


DA043: Schrödinger's Boy

by Briala, Rhion



Series: Woven Songs - Tattered Towers (metaverse) [4]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, F/M, Family, Fluff, Gen, Het and Slash, Living with trauma, M/M, Multi, Romance, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-06 20:58:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 64,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6769660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Briala/pseuds/Briala, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhion/pseuds/Rhion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the boy in the box hadn't been saved by a faithful Horse? What if what came out of that box had become twisted, believing he had died? This Ferox is Cyni (Anguish), stuck in a reality that he thinks is the Fade, he makes all the cruelest choices. But he is a boy in a box, a Ferox, and there are those who would spare him.<br/>Third Story in Woven Songs - Tattered Towers metaverse</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nachtmar

34497 

Schrödinger's Cat

“Men are brittle, I reckon. They don’t bend into new shapes. They get broken into them. Crushed into them.” Caul Shivers, Best Served Cold by Joe Abercrombie

 

His back ached from having been bent for so long hunched over, his knees pressed into his chest. The lid of the crate pressed against the top of his head, creaking, the weight of the dirt above him trickled into his hair and into the neck of his shirt. He was dead, wrapped in the funeral cloths binding his arms tightly to his legs, the rest of his body held still within them. The conquering Hero of River Dane had offered him a cremation, but when he saw the pyre of hay and dry wood as well as the torch the boys lit, he chose the ‘mass grave’ of one body, his. The Chevalier took off his armour as he was bidden, was wrapped up tight like a Saturnalia package and put into the crate barely big enough fit him. And then, what he thought would be the worst came, shovels full of dirt filling the air in the box with a fine grit that crunched between his teeth when he tried to breathe. Quiet, he mentally said the eulogy slowly, waiting to be exhumed. When no sound of shovel came, he said it again slower and pretending to be the Hero, awarded each of his men a boon and spoke of their loyalty and bravery. Gulping in the dusty air, he thought out a fine speech urging everyone to take up arms against the Orlesians and gave historical references, named ancestors and their brave deeds... 

And nothing, not a scrape of a shovel, only the continuing sifting of the fine dirt and the creaking protest of the crate as it began to crack under the weight of the dirt tramped down over him. 

He was dead.

His brother had forgotten him, going in to have lunch. Nan would ask ‘Where is your brother? Go get him right now.’ Any minute he would tear around the corner out to the compost ditches, he would pick up a shovel and start digging. Any minute...any minute now. An hour passed - he knew because he counted. To keep from panicking when the bindings could not be undone, could not be squirmed out of in the constricted confines, the lid which had several feet of dirt on top of it, could not be lifted - in his head, he told himself stories and songs that were used to track the passage of time, time, which by now must have been nearly supper. The air began to run out. He did not cry, he would not cry. Gasping, his head rhythmically pounded as hard as he could against the lid and the side of the crate causing stars in his vision. Unable to remember another story or another song, the stars began to spin and the steady beat continued, taking him away. He was dead - abandoned, forsaken, and forgotten.

The Fade was nothing like home. Two red hot pokers of searing pain were thrust through his head. One at his left temple, one through the corner of his left eye. The spot where they met in his skull, was where all of the agony in the entire world was kept. He heard the voice of a child chanting endlessly, “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts...” Wishing he could make them stop, he would have begged for silence. He was unable to concentrate with the endless noise of the far away child in their unknown pain. A demon came and went from his sight, one that looked like Mother. But it wasn’t Mother, it was an impostor, there was no doubt in his mind. He would have recognized his Mother, but this person was not her...had her face and talked sweetly to him, but it was a trick. Mother Mallol said that demons would trick you in the Fade, taking the faces of our friends and family...he was dead. This pain is his head was his punishment.

Another demon came into the room wearing the face of his Father, they talked about him in low voices thinking him unaware. He could not move his arms and legs to get away, to run far and fast from the demons who play-acted at being his concerned parents. Trapped and controlled, his body did not obey him. He was dead - abandoned, forsaken, and forgotten - this was the Fade.

The demon who pretended to be Father left and was gone for what seemed like a moment and many days all at once and the child continued chanting, “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts...” The Father Demon returned with an old healer mage who said she was on her way back to the Tower. As she leaned over him, her steel grey hair tickled his face, her brown eyes swirled into a wicked and malevolent yellow, and he smelled magic on her, thick and heavy. He would have fled, but his body would not listen to him. It continued to lie there, the ability and the choice to move having been taken from him. This was the head demon, the one come to take his soul, to offer him something he would be unable or be hard pressed to refuse. 

The voice of the child chanted incessantly, “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts...”

“Well, well, what have we here? A boy in a box. How interesting. Would you like out of your box, I wonder?”

Ferox A. Cousland, the boy in the box, was dead - abandoned, forsaken, and forgotten. This was the Fade. He did not call out to the Maker, knowing that he had already been judged and had been found wanting. This was his punishment. He would make no deals, nothing and no one could be trusted, everything was a trap, because everyone was a demon wanting to eat his soul. _Hold it tight, hide it away, step softly and learn the demon’s secrets. When you grow strong, control the lesser ones, find the leaders and kill those that you can, striking from behind. Do not be tricked by them, do not allow their friendly faces take you in._ He was dead and there was no going back, but he would not give them the pleasure of eating his soul.

Not when the Demon Howe killed his ‘family’, not when the Joining cup was forced on him, and not when he tore across ‘Ferelden’. All were demons before him, fake, pretend creatures. Ones that wanted his soul, so instead he took their lives. When there was the massive dragon, Arch Demon, he threw a false Loghain at it, and both demons died. But he fell and shattered into a thousand insignificant sparkling shards...

Slamming into wakefulness within the dream without so much as a twitch, there was a form beside him, tangled up and naked against his skin. Light from a fire in a heavy fireplace, displaying golden brown skin with demonic runes and smoke winding around it, the head on his shoulder, the arm across his waist and the leg wrapped around his thigh, was too intimate by far. It was obviously a Desire Demon, but one that was disturbing even more so than most of them were. Ferox _knew_ he had killed this demon before - on a dirt road in the Fade after he had gleaned what information he could from it before erasing it from the plain of existence they were on. 

He had learned that even the Fade had rules and one of those rules was that no one came back from the dead for long. Those who didn’t stay dead, when discovered, would attack, so it was best to be first in that action. This demon had been stupid to take the form of one killed so early on in such a memorable fashion. Ferox was used to ones who begged, but this one had talked endlessly, its voice soothing and hypnotic to steal away his thoughts, a counterpoint to pacify the near constant pulsing pain behind his eye. Without letting the Desire Demon finish its spell, in a heartbeat, without thought, it was dead on the road after he had pried the information _he_ wanted from it. The few who had proven useful as followers, at that point, had trailed after him with nary a peep to him about the failed and fallen assassin. 

“Mmn,” sleepy, as a hand slid with casual eroticism over his belly, fingers tugging gently at the hair of his groin before slipping to his hip. “What is it _querido_?”

Snarling, Ferox rolled over, catching the demon, that gave a surprising start, his knees pinning its hips down, his hands at its throat, squeezing. Gold eyes had already snapped open, eerie, unreal, burnished metal irises staring, even as long brown fingers had grabbed his wrists. Something moved within his mind, testing, touching, violating, before it snapped away, recoiling. Those fingers found and dug into the sides of Ferox’s wrists, even as he increased the pressure - _You won’t have me, demon!_ \- but the force on his wrists found the weakness of mortal flesh that he hadn’t been able to figure out how to shed, causing his grip to spasm.

“Ferox, I do not know what has happened to your mind, _amora_ ,” the forearms were bulging, holding Ferox back from his intent to remove the thing that wanted to devour him. “But either you are stuck in a nightmare or you are not yourself. I know not which, but as much as I love you, I will not let you do this.”

Growling as he fought to use his larger size, broader shoulders and greater weight to his advantage, only to be restrained by those hands and a quick flip that landed him on his back, stretched out, “No second chances - I _killed_ you! Dead in a ditch like the whoreson you claimed to be, Demon!”

“Hmn, nightmare definitely,” a faint scowl, if it had been mortal, he would call it concern or worry. But it wasn’t real. It was of the Fade. “No, _mi corizon_ , you did not kill me as you can see. There was that possibility, yes, but obviously it was not the choice you made.” The Desire born creature leaned close and Ferox tried to headbutt it, but it was dodged, and lips pressed to his, speaking impossibly, an order that he couldn’t resist no matter how he screamed and fought in his mind, _’Go back to sleep. I will help.’_

His ‘life’ in the Fade played out in meticulous detail within the nightmare inside a nightmare inside death. Fits and starts, time replaying, over and over again, until he thought he would go mad. When he awoke, it was once more in that bed, in that place, with that demon. His head was in its lap, hands stroking his temples with a sort of macabre sweet tenderness. As though it _knew_ him. Terror fueled his anger and he bolted up and away, scrambling from the massive, unfamiliar bed, in the unfamiliar room. Another ‘head’ Demon, one he must overcome, not give into. He had killed that first one, that Flemeth creature, the one who had been there at the beginning of this death. That Dragon Witch Demon was betrayed by its own creation - but he had been armed then, had had other lesser demons at his beck and call.

Here, he was alone. No matter. He was always alone, only himself to trust, the weak ones were only passive and obedient for so long. The Demon had made another mistake as they always did - it had too perfectly duplicated a set of surroundings he would understand. Reaching out he snapped up a sword as the demon remained on the bed, sitting, relaxed, legs crossed, watching him. As the blade darted forward to the Desire Demon’s neck, he was stopped short of it striking.

“Ferox Algere Cousland, I know this is very disconcerting for you,” it spoke with its poisonous and honey sweet words, that smoky voice that had almost convinced him to allow it to finish its spell. “But for some reason you have stumbled into a Ferelden not of your place, hmm? The memories I found, they are of the Blight and the most recent was from fighting Urthemiel. Obviously the blast from it has cast your mind or soul out, and slid into _my_ Ferox’s realm. As I want him back and you do not wish to be here, I will try and help you, but this -” it got up from the bed, prying his fingers open and removing the weapon from his frozen grasp, “- is not something I will let you do. You will harm no one while you are here.”

He had been given that name here, in the Fade, it was not his prior to death. One of the rules he would have said existed was no mind reading - although that guardian had done it. Reconsidering, perhaps it was a rare skill amongst demons. Worse, this one appeared to be able to force his body to act against his will, having made him go to sleep, caused him to stop from decapitating it once and for all, even holding him back from striking with his free hand. Some of the mage demons could hold someone for a time, but that would eventually end - all he had to do was wait.

Making himself relax, biding his time, he summoned up the same familiar patterns he used on the others, “I’m confused. If you are no demon, explain it to me.” 

Stroking that demonic ego, convincing them that their tricks were close to working, that he was merely hesitant. Soon they would fool him into giving up what they sought to take from him since the very beginning, the only thing that was his, the only thing that counted in this wasteland of falsehoods, his only true possession. As soon as that was gone, that was when the real punishment would begin, until then there was held out hope of surviving to reach what was beginning to seem imaginary - the Maker’s elusive Golden City. 

It looked at him patiently for long minutes, silent, measuring and weighing. “As you desire, _amora_. There are many Thedases, like many maps, stacked one atop the other, though often slightly off center from the ones beneath and above them. In some places they always line up perfectly, as though a needle were thrust between the layers. Kirkwall is one of them, all Kirkwalls are the same place, striking from one side of the stack of maps and out the other, endlessly and unfathomable. However, there are other ways of slipping from one Thedas to another I believe. I am going to guess that the blast from Urthemiel’s death is what has dislocated you and thrust you into the closest Ferox - whether in terms of similarities of mind, or even the fact that my Ferox and I are in Denerim, as you were when caught in the blast.” It sighed, shaking the golden haired head, setting the sword back in its place, scooping up a pair of trews and tossing them to him. “Dress if you desire it. This will be a long day and the dawn has not even come.”

This Desire Demon kept getting its surroundings wrong, the sword leaning against where he would have laid out his belongings, was not his Starfang although he recognized the metal. Of the two sets of armour nearby, one was too heavy, the other very similar to the set he had ordered made, but he had just come from from the so called Archdemon, the excellent condition of the leather screamed that it too, was wrong. He had been bitten, the chest plate torn, the ache in his gut confirmed the injury. Even with the Mage Demon’s cooperation in ‘healing’, still it would not heal all of the wounds, or if ‘she’ did there was always pain left behind. It was one of her few ways to defy him and until she was no longer needed, or was no longer willing or able to assist in the bulk of what he required of her - or until he found another more capable or agreeable to giving in to his strength of will. So he had refrained from killing her until she came to him and with a demand he denied. When she had tried to leave, he left her corpse burning in a convenient pile of darkspawn.

To a center office they went, notes were scrawled out in perfect replica of his handwriting, the contents informing others that he and ‘Zevran’ were ill and had to leave his duties to Seneschal Howe until they were ‘better’, while leaving palace security to two others - ‘Armand’ and ‘Geoffry’. Another note, to someone named ‘Moira’, stated that ‘the children’ best be kept away, else they may catch whatever it was that ‘he’ had. 

_Definitely a head Demon. An abomination one, possibly as strong as Flemeth?_ It bore watching, something about the inconsistencies appeared purposeful - to throw him off in all likelihood. _Clever._

But he was smarter than it and all those that had come before, including the one left on the roadside - the one this demon was pretending to be. It should have chosen Leliana, at least she had half a chance, they actually had something to build on there, a story or two, some flirting and more, Orlesian tart, trying to be so sweet and innocent, he saw through it, he had refused to be taken in, just like every demon before her. The Hero did not give in to Orlesians, she had been stupid to assume that because he had died for their cause that it was actually his own, stupid to think for an instant she could use that to get to him. It didn’t mean that he hadn’t used her form to a briefly pleasurable end. And the act had secured her loyalty up until she had become too much of a nuisance, turning on him and aiding that guardian demon with its witchy mind reading. Sex with female demons was quite different than the Rory demon he had used and left with only a faint twinge of remorse at the barred door - it was too bad, as he had been used to that one, one of his first followers with any sort physical power. He nearly laughed when the false Mother Mallol and the Rory were left for him to find there in the dungeons of the Fort, as if attempting to make him feel guilty or sad at their passing. The only sadness he felt was that he had not killed them himself, but at least their corpses showed just how vast their weaknesses had been, tortured and mutilated so.

Several nights in, they had gained a routine, oh how demons loved their routines, as they sought to lull him. Ferox followed along with moderate obedience - he didn’t want the Antivan whore to catch on to his game - occasionally ‘rebelling’ for a moment or two to make things plausible. They ate, they slept, he pretended to read any book he chose, while the demon devoured work as well as esoteric research, and when it was time for bed, they would wind up sharing a mattress far too comfortable, one nothing like the aching torture of the hard rocky ground he was accustomed to. But the demon kept to one side, back to him. For a brief moment he did entertain just how useful a demon so powerful could be, but there was too much danger there. In the Fade mornings, it wound up sprawled close to him, as though it could not help gravitating towards him, one of its hands slid beneath his in sleep.

Each morning he found himself elsewhere than in the story that he had been living, in the dream he had been fulfilling, one time-wasting quest after another, one demon slain after another, those that were familiar and those that weren’t. Each morning he had to prevent himself from scrambling off of the seductively plump mattress that urged him to stay and rest, to forget his troubles and just give in. Each morning he had to hold the near panic and the need to press his back against a wall, tight, so it was not acted upon, a childish need to believe that a simple wall could protect him. It was imaginary just like everything else, monsters were under the bed and in the closets and they could break down walls just as easily as the fire demons crawled out of the floors. He had to pretend, to continue to lull this demon, until he found a way to escape its influence either by its death or by distance. 

It made a fatal mistake one night. 

He had awoken and found himself alone. Muffling the victorious thrill in his veins, Ferox dressed, the medium leathers donned quickly, the weapons he found slung over his hip and shoulders. Grinning wolfishly, Ferox left the rooms, spacious and beautiful, seductive as the creature was. He had been paying attention in their walks, knew the floors and the paths they traveled, walks to clear his head, why the demon would take him for those, he didn’t know. It _knew_ too many things about him, including this need for movement, even if it got them all slightly wrong. 

The sound of children crying reached his ears as he stealthily made his way down the hall, and he paused, wanting to silence them, that noise was horrible. It hurt his head more. A dark-haired boy was trying to soothe two blond ones, while the demon was cradling a third blond, a girl if the little pink leggings she wore were an indicator. Just as Ferox thought to flee before catching any of the demons’ notice, the dark-haired boy looked up, his eyes widening with excitement. Another falsehood, as he had observed Oren’s body, dead while the Mother Demon cried her fake tears. Up on legs that were not full grown, he would place the child at about six, they stubbily worked quickly, while Ferox backed up, and this new demon careened into his legs. 

Small arms wrapped around his leg, locking with a terrible grip, as it looked up at him. This one was not the same, it had a cloud of curly mahogany shoulder length hair and strange eyes that were almost brown and almost blue, and they were filled with false adoration. It was not Oren, who had been pale skinned and blue-eyed, the Chasind and Antivan blood having skipped over him. 

“Daddy! Missed you, you better?” hopping in place as it hugged his thigh, chin pressed to the leather kilt. 

The head demon was rising, gold eyes promising wrath, an arm snaking out to keep the other little toddler-sized demons back, “Len, he is still unwell, come away. Now.”

“But Papi - it’s Daddy and...” trailing off. At the sound of his deepening snarling, the demon-boy stared back at him for a second, then backed away, alarm and fear morphing his face. “Daddy...?”

“Don’t touch me.”

A huge mabari was out and between them suddenly, black with white scars over her body, interposing herself, and shouldering ‘Len’ back. She crouched protectively, huge, bigger than most mabari-demons he had ever seen. She was silent, not growling, but she stared him down, ready to attack, teeth revealed from the pulled back lips. Others in the nursery were wakening, the head demon silencing them and passing off the pathetically crying girl child, and he caught a flash of her face - it was much like his Mother’s had been when he was very little, but in miniature, years before he died. 

“Keep your demon pups away from me, dog. I have no need of them,” hands reaching for the hilt of his weapons, wanting her to spring. Turning in disdain to the stairs as if intent on air, he was eager for the heavy weight to pounce on his back, ready to gut the creature. Finally, something to strike against, no games, no dancing to the demon’s expectations. This one was a simple creature and it would be settled with teeth and blades. Instead something hooked into his baldrics, hauling him away with vicious strength, but not weight. “Unhand me, Demon!”

“No,” a twist and he was sent flying from the nursery, having to pull dexterity so as not to strike the artificial safety of a stone wall, but the body was far more sluggish than the one he was used to, resisting him - oh yes, even that had been taken away and altered. “Moira, Nan, Sarah - take care of the children, hmn? Get them some nice warm milk,” deceptively calm and warm. “Daddy and I need to have a chat, yes?” the demon descended upon him, yanking him to his feet and shoving him around the corner to the wall near the stairs, a solid mask of fury on its face and somehow battering at Ferox’s mind. The hands on his shoulders would have bruised painfully if he hadn’t been armoured, “If you ever threaten our children again, Ferox, I will rip your mind to shreds, and remake you into what I wish you to be, while waiting for my own husband to return. Everything that you hold dear to hate will be torn asunder and you will be made over, and forced to understand exactly what you have done in your own realm.”

All demons bragged of their power, all demons puffed that they were the worst he had ever run across, every one to this point was dead. This one _had_ been dead. However, every demon hinted at their powers or what they would do and yet they had been weak. It had happened many times over, each of them pathetic. This demon didn’t play by the rules that he had become accustomed to, this one had learned to keep him from taking action, not just for a short time, like the length of the usual paralyze spell, but to stay his hand. How could his body keep moving forward, yet be unable to act, to strike back, to end this charade once and for all?

Ferox found himself marching back to the rooms in which he was kept, while the demon yanked on armour then wrenched the blade from Ferox’s sheath, “This is mine, not yours, not his.” A different weapon was handed to him, “This is my spare, you will use it.” 

And then they were off again, his feet not obeying him, his jaw locked on the flow of invectives he wanted, needed, to spit, but was physically unable to. Inside a great salle, he was suddenly free. Spinning and acting upon it while the chance remained, Ferox lashed out, striking the demon with a satisfying snarl as his other hand went for his weapon. With a roll the demon was back up, snorting, taunting without action, its expression so mild, so infuriatingly mild, as though it had _allowed_ him to land that strike. His blades out, they danced, but the demon had yet to pull his weapons, had yet to do anything but walk into the blows, yet somehow twist just enough for them to slip away from being deadly or maiming, turning them to just bruising. Furiously, Ferox threw himself into the task, searching for weaknesses, each weakness he thought he found was nothing but an illusion, as they never did anything to slow the demon down. It just kept coming and coming, dancing this or that way, allowing itself to be struck time and again, but never with enough force to do any true damage. 

The body he had become used to, the one he had imagined, dreamt, and worked for, nothing like the child’s body he had begun with, would have been faster, but would it have been enough? He would have liked to think so, but this game made him unsure. This body had power and strength he was not accustomed to, but it was not as flexible and did not react as he would like, the muscles used to other movements. _Objects_ he was used to losing, ‘selling’ or exchanging - this loss of something so personal, one thing he thought couldn’t be taken, had been. This clever demon had found something he was attached to; interesting as there was so little to hold close, it must be time to lose that attachment then. 

It waited him out before making another display of strength as it had in the hall, the leg whipping out at an impossible angle, striking him on the side of his ribcage, and again, he went flying, desperately pulling on his knowledge and reflexes to keep from landing badly. “Have you worked out enough of your meaningless aggression? Or do you need more?” The Zevran-Lover-Partner Demon fell into a loose squat beside him, hands dangling between knees, head cocked to one side, measuring. Always measuring. “Or do you require me to pound it into submission for you?”

Position and roles reversed from the ambush on the road, this one had studied even that. Breaking the rules, always breaking the rules, they must be in its realm. What was the weakness that Ferox could press to his advantage? They all had one - think, what was the last Desire Demon’s weakness? The thing, person...demon they controlled - but that was him in this case. He was the one being controlled. Kill this body to get the other one back? Was that the answer to the puzzle? The way out of this mockery? But things stayed dead, or if they didn’t, they attacked. Sounded like a reasonable plan. The demon liked this body, which was why he had been put in it, and it hampered him certainly. Every little thing the demon did screamed that this body was important to it, even when it slept, it was unable to resist it. Who was this body he was forced to inhabit?

Today had not been a total failure as he had learned other things about this demon, it had offspring it cared about, unfortunately ones that appeared to be well guarded. But one of those offspring pretended that this body was its father. Had he been thinking quicker he should have picked up the creature right then and demanded to be returned to his previous section of the Fade, the one he was carving into a kingdom for himself. If demons could rule the Fade, why not the deadman who killed them all?

Giving in again, appearing to give it what it wanted, “There is no need. I’m finished.”

The smile was sharp, “Of course. Are you hungry?”

Stupid question, this body was always hungry as the bulkier form needed more fuel than his own. Even when it was resting, it couldn’t get enough. His own body, he would have refused to indulge in this manner. Hunger was a demon and he did not give into it willingly either.

The loud growling in his stomach reminded him of the soft creature who called itself Alistair - bad end that one, must have slipped, broke his neck, and drowned in that puddle. Too bad really, except for having to put up with his endless hunger and whining, he was a decent follower. However, nobody, and he meant nobody, got to leave him behind without him specifically releasing them from servitude. He was the one who did the leaving, and he wasn’t going to allow a disgruntled follower behind him to bite him in the ass. You followed or you were dead, that simple.

He hadn’t answered but acted as though he had, “Very well then, let us find something to ease the pain of our bellies, hmn?”

The routine did not deviate, the demon only held him at further length, made wary. Perhaps the mistake had been a trap, a test to see if Ferox would buy what it sold or not. He had failed, but would not fail again. _He_ would succeed and leave this abomination in smoking ruin, while taking its power for himself. _It desires this body? Fine._ So in the mornings he began to hold that bronze hand that searched in the night to find his own. And he didn’t push or jerk away. Anything too obvious would fail, just as he had before, so it was not a mistake he would repeat. He would admit that it was a very handsome demon, but that was of course an intentional thing, something to mislead and entice to draw the unwary into its trap.

“I know what you are doing, _amora_ ,” even as on this morning it opened its eyes, watching him watch it, his other hand having gone out as though to touch it. 

It was a Desire Demon, of course it knew. It was somehow born with the ability to read what a person yearned or craved. The nightmare of the Circle Tower certainly was an education in that area. Why would a demon control another? No, those two had been working together to entrap him, that one in his Templar armour pretending to be the mind slave of the demon. All pretend, all fake, all not real... At least being dead was interesting. The Maker’s so called Golden City was going to be boring compared to all this. _Oh, that’s another trap, nice one too. Almost hadn’t caught it._

“You appeared to want contact with this form and I didn’t mind it. My mistake.” Withdrawing his hand he rolled onto his back, back onto the mattress which gave no more comfort than a wall would have. 

The ground was not solid, stone was not solid, the Fade could be altered in a blink or an explosion. He really thought the Loghain creature had that Arch Demon death thing covered though. Didn’t buy into the whole sacrifice thing, but who was he to say no? Then instead of carrying the Queen Demon down the aisle he got ‘rewarded’ with this. Just when it had finally settled down. Anybody who said death was easy, was fooling themselves or had never been here.

“I want you gone just as badly as you wish to be gone,” it came in the same dulcet voice, but was obviously tired. “My Ferox is not the kindest of men, nor is he the best. But he is mine and I am his. You are an interloper, one that has harmed the children he and I have raised, one that causes me to have to carry a kingdom as well as cope with your childish outbursts and meagre attempts at manipulation. Instead of calmly waiting it out while a solution is sought, you waste time by being a pain in the ass - as soon as a working solution that gains us both what we wish can be found - it will be seen to immediately. Of course you do not believe this, but you are young and ignorant.” The demon still rolled to look at him, a hand moving to touch his face, turning it so that the inhuman eyes could look at him, “Yes, I wish contact with my spouse. It also pains me to see what path he could have been upon and to see the sheer lack of good judgement and soul-destroying mania that could have been. The way I feel looking upon you is the same way he must have felt looking upon Dassan - a broken, shattered, frightening facsimile that nothing can be done to help. Rabid, and just waiting to break everything around it, for reasons that while known, even understood, only dig their grave deeper. If there was some way to help you beyond getting you back to where you belong, I would do so. I love Ferox, and yes, that means even you, but I do not have the resources to help an animal that would eat its own young in a game of one upmanship that has no winners - only losers.”

The words could not touch him, but he heard their tone. He didn’t fight, despite the usual morning desire to scramble to a corner made worse by this touch. He didn’t turn or pull away, even though the headache nearly made him blind in his left eye. Holding another’s gaze closely was painful, regardless of the intention to force himself to keep focused, his eyes slid from the face, focusing at a further distance that did not aggravate. He looked in the direction of the creature, certainly, probably just through it. 

This was his punishment.

The demon had said before that that this body belonged to his husband, however Ferox hadn’t taken that literally, but he saw the marking on that striking form, burnt into the flesh of a finger. It wasn’t just fondness, the demon had in fact bound himself to this other. Was this other a deadman like himself? _No, you are buying into its game. You are listening to its words as it suddenly talks just as much as it did before._

A brief flare of anger before he remembered that Rage was a demon too. Not Hunger, not Rage, not Desire, they would not be allowed to rule him. Lesser demons all, and Sloth was never any issue for him, yet here he was feeling that he had taken that demon in. Just sit quietly and wait to be eaten. The creature knew his mind, so engaging it was not the answer, it was only a trap. _It acts as if it was not the one to catch you and bring you here._ The so called Arch Demon was not a greater entity, it was dead...probably, possibly. Nothing was certain. All he wanted was his own corner of the Fade to defend from all comers - demons in their own shapes, in mages, in the Qunari, or Orlesians, silence to still the aching in his mind, stop the movement of the stars on the periphery of his vision, far out of the range of the voice that chanted eternally, “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts...” 

If he died here, would he finally move on? Would everything begin again? Or, would he just get back to his feet only partially healed with the fiery brands thrust into his mind and the other injuries that would take time to repair? He wasn’t certain what the outcome would be and so had yet to decide. No doubt this head demon would pull him out of whatever corner of the Fade he fell back into, just to have revenge. Pain, his first memory of this nightmare death dream, was still very real, even though very little else was. 

The hand smoothed over the side of his face once, warm, tantalizing for a brief second before it withdrew and their day started once again. “Do not go near the nursery, but move around the palace as you wish.”

A slight nod acknowledging the instructions. Concession or test? A trap certainly. What had the creature picked out of his mind during that brief brush that smoothed the headache away? That was the only indication that it had done something, found something. What fresh torture was it planning? Did it have designs on his newly cleared corner? Demons were always jockeying for position and he wasn’t in their hierarchy, he was merely the deadman. Or, had he climbed so far up the line, that he had reached one that watched this section of the Fade? If so, it was a bureaucracy with too much paperwork. 

Clarifying, finding the boundaries, engaging the demon cautiously, “Inside or outside, as well?” What he really wanted was to go to the top of Fort Drakon to see if the body was there, but that was more than was being extended. He was trying, at least for the time being, to live within the new rules of this place, rules that he was still trying to define.

“I want nothing to do with you at the moment and do not feel like watching over you as I would a curious toddler, go where you will within the palace grounds, but try to limit the negative impact you have, as even after you are returned to your own place, people still have to live here,” with that it slid from the room, the door closing quietly.

What was that supposed to mean? He had already harmed the offspring without touching them? Correction, without any physical harm _that he could recall_. Were the children demons playing at being children, or actual children under the hold of the demons? The only thing he could remember threatening was the dog - the dog that got between him and the small one who had his features that had begun to crumble into confusion, fear, and tears. Didn’t matter who he looks like, who the girl looks like, they were obviously weak and would have to make their own way. _Not my problem. Said so at the time._ The creature had taken control of him afterwards, did he do that during that time as well? It didn’t matter. There was far worse done, demon children had been killed before. Normally he avoided them with their screaming and squealing, crying and shrieking, the high pitched noises enough of a deterrent on their own.

Looking up at the colourful ceiling, another trap, he wondered again what spell was woven into the design. Would it light up when words were spoken? Did it hide or protect something up there? What if this was his new corner? Perhaps he had been promoted by some unknown entity to clear out this one? _Anything is possible._ Rolling to his feet and dressing, he was still trying to see the traps in the permission that was given, angry that he was pretending to be submissive, to being given permission to do something. He didn’t ask, shouldn’t have to ask. The demon would be watching, knowing what he did, probably still rummaging in his mind. Its fictitious display of exhaustion was a nice touch, must have a Sloth Demon running around to have copied that from. He needed air and a quiet place to think, _One out of two isn’t bad_. He chose to take the route they walked, headed to the tower closest to Fort Drakon. Knowing that little if anything could be observed that high up, perhaps a wing hung off the side? Something to verify if this was his corner that had been changed, or like the demon said, something different entirely. _Does it matter? No. If I have to start over, I will._ He would make no deals, nothing and no one could be trusted, everything was a trap, because everyone was a demon wanting to eat his soul. It was all he had left now that his body was no longer his own and his mind had been compromised.

Of course, as he surmised, nothing could be observed at this vantage point, beyond Denerim looking very odd and very green, and the Fort seemed different, larger than it had been. At least from where he was, it was a long ways down, granted nowhere near the height of the Fort. _Time to change this ‘reality’._ A harsh laugh flew out of his mouth as he leaned out, looking down at the ground several stories below, _How’s this for limiting my ‘negative impact’ on this precious realm?_

 _’It does not work that way,’_ bored sounding, and Ferox found himself walking back down the steps. _’Very well, if being monitored is what you require, then it is what you will have. Come back down to the office please.’_

Hunger gnawed at him violently and the demon was almost constantly eating, bolting food before slacking off, much like he found this body doing. It wasn’t a compulsion, he would just _realize_ that he had been doing something other than what he originally intended. No memory of deciding one thing or another, he just did it. He was free to think, that much he found, and his actions other than eating, sleeping, avoiding the nursery, and items he could use to change his reality, were also free. It was the limiting he chafed at, amongst many other things. 

_Remember when you said death wasn’t boring? You lied._ Thinking he was used to, but arguing with himself was new. Figuring that this was the next step in losing control of his mind, he wondered at what point it would agree to give up the speck he had preserved, agree without him aware. _No. That has to be by free will._ But the rules had changed, _Did that change too?_

Darkness pulled, giving Sloth his way in, wondering if Sloth had an underling, Despair. He didn’t want to pretend to read, didn’t want to go for ‘walkies’, didn’t want to do anything. So he stopped, if it was optional, if there was a choice, he didn’t want it, he didn’t take it. It wasn’t a conscious choice, the thought hadn’t entered his mind that if he was boring and no longer entertaining, he would be ‘sent home’. Simply put, he just wanted to be left alone.

The demon was in the office, he could hear him, hear him leaving and talking to the Howe, the one with Rendon’s nose. The one that he remembered many years in the Fade earlier being polite and encouraging him when he practiced the bow, a strange demon, seeking to sway and buy him as they all had. Then his door opened, a small head poking around it, looking about, a worn tunic in hand as he began searching the room. Ferox didn’t move, didn’t alert the tiny demon child from his place in a dark corner, the hearth unlit, the windows shuttered. The child like creature made a disappointed and confused noise then clambered into the bed, and pulled out a piece of paper, laying it on his side of the bed, carefully spreading out the tunic, a frown of concentration on the miniaturized features. He gave a nod, obviously pleased with his work, and made to climb free but a hiccup worked its way past, then another, hands clapping over the mouth to muffle the noise. Instead of leaving like it had intended, it burrowed up under the covers in a ball, and continued hiccuping quietly, obviously crying. But it wasn’t noisy, as though it didn’t wish to be found. Either it had slipped its own leash, or it was seeking to manipulate him. No matter, he didn’t care, he just sat in the overlarge chair, studying the miniature abomination with his face.

Ferox wished there was a wall to begin bashing in head into, not that he was allowed to do that anymore either after the first incident. It was the last time he had felt real and in control for a moment as the flash of pain lit the sky. Next thing he remembered was washing up and cleaning the cut on his forehead which had bled profusely. There was no next time and that was what caused him to give up. Now there was this creature in his prison, whimpering like a tortured animal, unaware of his presence. 

He couldn’t get near it without punishment. If he moved it would see him. Trapped. Even here in what was called ‘his room’ he wasn’t safe. If only this large body moved like his could, it wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t very quiet. _Welcome to the new reality where you are screwed. No you’re not even getting screwed...on the receiving end mentally, I’ll give you that one. What if there is this bulky warrior really in my personal corner? Lels is going to be surprised. No, no - she’s dead, so no surprise. If he messes my whole Anora setup, I swear, no matter how long it takes, I’ll kill him. You are buying into the story again._ Finally it wore itself out, sleeping, burrowed into his pillow and holding on to it like a stuffed toy. He wished it away, and as usual he was unable to change his surroundings. Only demons could do that and he was only a deadman, stuck with a demon he couldn’t kill. Tempting as it was to hurt the demon this way, as most efforts to harm himself didn’t work, he doubted he would get very far and he didn’t like to hurt demon children.

As quietly as he could make this cursed form move, Ferox glided to the door and slipped into the narrow hall, leaving the door open behind him. Perhaps the child...demon...whatever, would wake up soon and leave his room. _Now we’re possessive? Seriously, where did you come from? I never questioned my actions before, ever. Go away._ Where was safe? _Nowhere. If you won’t shut up at least be helpful. Fine - library._ Finding another dark corner that gave him a clear view of the hallway, he wedged himself into what would have normally been a comfortable fit. The frustrating fighter trained body made it a tight fit. _Shut up. Less spots to protect._ The ground was not solid, stone was not solid, the floor was not solid, _Your mind is not solid. Didn’t ask you._ For the first time in a very long time he wanted to go home. _You can’t! You’re dead!_

Clutching his skull, he snarled, “SHUT UP!”

No one heard, no one came running. 

Perhaps an hour, possibly two, the small demon left, rubbing his nose, hiding that he had been crying before sneaking with admirable skill back into the nursery. As it passed by the library, he knew he was free to return to his corner without anything hindering him. Uncaring, he didn’t move. Soon he knew Zevran would return, ready to mete out punishment, but until then, he could have quiet, a wall at his back, solid or not, and wait. _Make him look for me._ Snorting, _Nah, you’ll just stick your hand up and wave it about like the boy who knows the answer to the question the instructor just asked. ‘Oh Oh! Pick me! Pick me!’ I hate you. Go away._

Just as he was getting comfortable again with the silence, hearing only the cry of pain, the new voice started up again, _I want to know what the frell the kid put in the bed. I don’t care - go away. Oren did that once. Shut up, the little piss-ant demon is dead. This one isn’t. And I don’t give a damn if he’s alive, dead, a real child or a demon._ It could have been a Saturnalia present, a birthday present, not that any counted after that last birthday. _That’s childish._ Childish? He was eight fucking years old, hadn’t aged a day either, therefore he had every right to be ‘childish’. This body, well not this one, but _his_ was a result of imagination only, of pretending to grow up, else he be eaten by every demon that came along. He had to get bigger and stronger, faster and quicker so he didn’t get caught. 

He didn’t know why, it wasn’t the demon’s doing - _Yeah, pull the other one_ \- but he still felt his feet carrying him back to the room, back to the bed. An old navy blue tunic, worn down and made into a blanket, originally cut to fit his body, or this form he was stuck in, and a piece of paper with boyish handwriting scrawled over it. Gritting his teeth he refused to read it and successfully set it down. _Huh._ Shoving the items from the bed with a growl, Ferox lay down to stare at the spell wheel above. _It might have information you want. What? Whatever the kid wrote. Demon. Whatever. It might be offering you information. How do I know that you aren’t just some kind of demon stuck in my head reporting my every action to him? That’s the thing - you don’t. If you do nothing, you’ll be chipped away until you are what he, they, it, wants. A chance is still a chance and more than you have if you stay right there._ He rolled over, arm reaching down to snag the piece of parchment and read it.

 _...Daddy, I been a bad boy and make you mad. I’m sory,_ the ‘sorry’ was struck through twice, and respelled laboriously until it was correct. _...sorry. Don’t be mad, I sit in the corner for time out. I take care of my sisters and brothers, becoz,_ again, the word was struck through until it was correct. _...because I must have been bad and not done good enuff job. Please don’t be mad. Take my blankie, maybe it make you feel better? I miss you Daddy...I’m sorry, don’t hate me, I love you. Iona, Bryce and Helion cry lots. They miss you too._  
\- Len  


He wished the fire was lit to hide the evidence that he had again hurt the boy. _Told you._ Unable to rid the room of the evidence without going to the nursery or to throw it at the demon to return, because then he would know. _Hide it in the library. What? Under the bed. Under the chair! Noooooooo._ Getting up he stood on the bed and lifted a ceiling panel. _Perfect. Hey and look, it’s dark up here. Probably nothing up there anyway._ Setting the tile aside, he put the neatly folded tunic blanket and the letter on the panel next to the one he had lifted, and the wooden board was settled back into place. _I swear to whatever demon you tattle to, that I won’t stop at tower jumping if you tell, I’ll try absolutely everything until you are thrown in a box and buried alongside me. Do you understand me?_ Not a word, not a peep. Enjoying the unexpected silence, he returned to his chair. 

Awakening from a light doze, he saw Zevran sniffing the air, frowning. “Len was in here.” Sighing as he dug in the hamper, searching out a shirt worn recently, “I apologize, I have told him to leave you alone, he can be difficult as he has your stubbornness. Endearing most times, frustrating others.”

Shirt in hand the demon left for several hours the statement given, which was barely understood through the blinding pain behind his eye, being the only explanation for the odd behaviour.

Hadn’t considered that elves were like dogs in the nose department, of course he made the usual assumptions on ears. Once more the demon returned, stating that he would be in his own room and that if Ferox chose to, he was available for anything he required, while also requesting he keep an eye out for Len’s ‘blankie’ and if he saw it, as apparently it had ‘gone missing’ and that the servants and guards were all keeping an eye out for it, as the boy was usually physically attached to the thing. Through the pain, words stuck in his mind - the demon child’s blankie.

“Hrm.” He wasn’t about say that the thing had hopefully just fallen on the floor and slipped under the bed, because that is where it was going to be in a few minutes. Nor was he going to speculate on why it had been brought to him in the first place. _To cause you trouble of course. I didn’t have a ‘blankie’. You had a stuffed dog and you wouldn’t sleep without it. I hate you. Go away. Get out of my head! Get out of this body and maybe I will._ If that nose knew anything, it was going to know that he touched the fucking thing too. _Screwed. I told you. He’s going to know either way. You told me to pick the thing up! I didn’t do anything. Doesn’t matter - it was on the bed which smells like you. It won’t smell more or less just from you having touched it you idiot. I don’t think so. He knew the kid was in here, I couldn’t tell you that he was in here and I was here...wait that’s not right. It doesn’t matter though, ‘cause I still hate you!_ The voice turned sweet and all of his alarm bells went off, _Well, you could bring it to the demon and that way your smell would be on it with a good reason. And you could finally see his lair._

“Hrm.” _Good point, except it makes it look as if I care. Which you don’t, I know. Go do it anyway and cover your ass, cause if he can smell the kid, I bet given time he could smell that blanket. And then I won’t have to tell on you._

Ferox waited until it seemed a reasonable time, then carefully fetched out the blanket, shook the bit of dust off, and went to knock on Zevran’s door. Surprise shone on the demon’s face when he stood there holding out the re-folded item. Gruffly, “On the floor, under the bed,” having pressed it into the large rug there just in case.

“Thank you,” taking it from him, the smile unlike the other ones he had seen, painfully bright, and for a brief second his head stopped hurting completely, the sudden and complete absence of pain dizzying. “I appreciate it, _querido,_ truly. Good night then.”

Giving a grunt in response, he turned back to his room, the perpetual agonizing haze settling back over his vision, eyes falling back to the ground away from candlelight in the big office. Torches were worse because you never knew where to look to avoid seeing one, the flame dancing. _No, fires are the worst, especially outside because it’s the only thing you can look at...mesmerizing. Speaking of fires, who lit him up? You did. I told you it would make it look like I cared. Yep. Hate you. Oh the feeling is quite mutual, I assure you._

Back in his chair, leg swung over one armrest, head on the other, he returned to silence, or thought he had. _You could continue to keep him lit up like that._

_Why would I want to?_

_He might like you better._

_I don’t want him to like me better. I want him to send me home._

_He might work harder to send you home. _

_Fuck off, you know he’s just trying to suck my soul out. So are you for that matter._

_I don’t want your soul, it’s broken and filthy and of no use to me. I have my own._

_Go fuck yourself._

_Yeah, well, I wouldn’t mind a bit of that, but it’s not like anyone’s done anything lately - which I’m blaming on you._

_**He’s a Desire demon! That’s what they want! What are you?? Stupid??** ‘Sides that, if he hates me and likes you then you’ll get your body back quicker. _

_Me? Stupid? That’s a laugh, you ser, are the stupid one. You don’t have to make a deal to make a trade, frell are you stupid. Fine - I’ll make it real simple and use tiny words for you then. Play the game for a chance at escape or sit in the dark and gain nothing until you are remade into someone else. Then it won’t matter how well you’ve hidden your soul away._

_If I’m not messing with anything, sitting quietly just like I’ve been told, there’s no reason to go mucking with my head, except to remove you._

_And suddenly, just like you to trust him?_

_Are you telling me not to?_

_Well, no, but... He didn’t say sit there quietly, he said ‘limit your negative impact’. _

_You need me to point out that this IS limiting that impact?_

_There’s a letter up there that says otherwise._

_With you running around in my head, I’m about ready to tear someone’s head off._

_You’re just bored._

_So are you._

Ferox was unsure that if he returned to his walks, runs, some kind of movement if the demon in his head would go away or not. After all it didn’t appear until his mind had been messed with. However, it was tempting enough to try. Maybe tomorrow.

The next day the voice woke him and talked so loudly that he couldn’t even hear the child. Wishing, nearly begging to be able to bash his head, a restricted activity, he climbed tower steps instead, cursing under his breath at the near silence because if he looked like he was stopping, the berating began again. 

After the fifth climb to the top, _I don’t like this tower, go climb the one on the southeast corner._

_What? Why?_

_Better acoustics._

_WHAT?_

_Just do it._

Down the long hall, not looking at anyone, he followed the directions and found the door and began to climb the steps. _So why switch?_

_Acoustics, I told you._

_I still don’t understand._

_Fine. Sing._

_What?_

_Sing._

_I don’t sing._

_Sure you do._

_No, no I don’t._

_Yes, you do._

_No, I don’t and I don’t know any songs anyway._

_What the frell is wrong with you? What did your parents and Nan teach you?_

He stumbled and nearly got his wish of cracking his head open, _Shut the fuck up. One more word and I’m going back to the chair._

_Oh goody, then you know I won’t shut up._

_You’re bluffing._

_Try me asshole, I’m in no mood to bluff._

So he tried to sing and the voice was quiet. He still felt like an idiot, but did it, just for the activity and the quieting of the demon in his head. He had been telling the truth, he didn’t know any songs. For a moment he thought he knew one, but each time he reached into his memory, they were gone as soon as he opened his mouth. There was a growl and words were supplied, marching cadences, comfortable, bearable. Then the agony in his skull blossomed into a whole new creature when he began to sing the songs for keeping time, and he struggled to shut it out, temples throbbing with pure agony as tunes to let bread bake, or the planting rotations, seasons, letters and numbers, tricks to keep things in order, until he had to sink to his knees unevenly on the stairs, clutching at his head, rocking back and forth. 

Something called out into the darkness; he hadn’t, the demons would find him while he was laid bare, vulnerable, unable to hold a weapon. One of the most frightening and insidious ones up to now came, as Ferox continued to gasp out the words, struggling through the expanded pain, panic rising at the the sensation of arms drawing him in tightly, hands snaking past his, loosening his hair, fingers running along his skull, and strange scent filling his nose - it allowed him to go silent, the song stopping. 

“It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” blindly, muttering, chanting.

The demon struggled to help him up, to make him lean against it, though he pushed, seeking to thrust it from him, but could not. To its lair they went, rather than his dark prison, the room glowing with too much colour, but it was soft, so soft. Everything was soft, enticing, sweet, welcoming. Trap, it was all a trap, and he was completely defenseless.

“Don’t bring the healer, she’s not a healer, she’s really Flemeth, and she’s dead. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.” Over and over the chant went round and he was powerless to stop the words of the child crying in the darkness.

His head was resting on a strikingly marked chest, a hand in his hair, fingers mapping the line of his skull, another hand rubbing his back, catching his attention briefly, “Flemeth never truly dies, _amora_. But she cannot hurt you here, you will not be harmed. I will not allow it.” Steady, why was it so steady? Reaching in, that’s what the demon was doing, seeking the source of the pain. “I will share this with you, _querido_.” 

Ferox wanted to protest, but he couldn’t stop the noise in his head, couldn’t hear for the crying child. There was a grunt and a hiss, the agony lifting, leaving him drained and exhausted. Sleep came. And the demon joined the one in his head, falling into sleep with him. Waking briefly in the night, although Ferox didn’t know where he was, strangely he didn’t panic as a heartbeat sounded under his ear and reassurance was wrapped around him. He sighed and drifted back under, breathing easily. Perhaps the spirit of his Mother had found him, she must have finally died, a thread reaching out to search, taking the pain away for a time, it would last only until she remembered how worthless he was. 

The pain was the least he had ever felt, the least amount that he could remember. Wakening, suspicious after the deep relief of rest, he glanced around. It was the demon’s room, he remembered that, it was like an entirely different world, warm, bedding made of silk under his hand and something in the room spicy and sweet smelling. As for the creature, it appeared to still be asleep, eyes closed, brow furrowed deeply, the fingers against his skull were moving lazily, giving lie to that appearance. What did it want from him - what favour would it require for having dulled the pain? Had he just given up his soul for the ‘rescue’ in the stairwell? 

“The sun rising and setting does not have a cost we mortals pay, _amora_ ,” words slowly dragged from its mouth. “You, in pain, is intolerable for me, I cannot...abandon you to it, even if you are a disagreeable and apathetic ass. But if you feel the damnable desire to attach a _cost_ on what is given freely, then I suppose I expect you to have manners and take care of yourself while I try to run a country, raise a family, and find a cure for whatever has happened. I am only one man and even with help, it is no easy set of tasks, his absence is keenly felt, increasing the weight vastly. But - ” the chuckle was tired, sharp and bitter, “of course you do not believe any of this. It is just more words, more lies, more manipulation. There is no action, no set of words, that can convince you. Giving you run of the palace - you try to leap from the battlements. Leaving to quiet the children because Helion wished for his Daddy and threw a screaming tantrum, results in scaring them half to death, convinced that you hate them or have abandoned them. Leaving you alone, giving you space, you sit in the dark, brooding and not moving around, as though you are imprisoned. I am only one man, with only so many resources, and...never mind, this is outside your scope, apologies for burdening you.”

He missed his Chasind eye coverings. The things had always made Lels laugh, which of course got a snarl. But they had purpose - the Fade was such a bright place unless it was just before dawn or just after sunset and he was forced to wear them to see. Even then, they could not block enough light to stop the pokers from meeting behind his left eye. His demonic followers cursed him roundly for wishing to travel at night when the moon was bright enough. Indoors he was always looking at the floor. Could identify more houses in Ferelden by the pattern of flagstone or the way the planking was laid than he could by the faces of the inhabitants. Again, Lels had always caught the names and faces... This morning he wouldn’t have to completely close his eyes to the sun. 

What do you say to a demon who can make that possible? Wynne blathered on about spirits being different than demons, probably just another lie until he killed her so that he could gain the Templars’ support instead. What would he know except to distrust absolutely everything, absolutely all of the time? There were demons he didn’t actually dislike all of the time, okay two...make that none now. “If all of that is true, then why stick this thing in my head who keeps demanding his body back?”

The gold eyes flung open, “What?” It moved quickly, rolling him over, straddling him, as his arms were thrown up to protect. The demon’s expression was wild, staring at him, searching. “He is...?” A shaking hand pressed to his right cheek, “ _Amora_...patience, please. I am working, I am trying...I swear to both of you, please...”

The demon must have been playing in the Alienage’s Orphanage recently, as it looked just like that demon woman, sitting there on the ground waiting for her ‘grandmother’s amulet.’ _Do demons even have families...never mind. Forgot for a second._ Was it an act or real concern? Hope even? 

_I’d say there’s some guilt for not looking more than once, but who could see anything under that cloud you carry around? That, and he should know who called him to find your sorry carcass, ‘cause it certainly wasn’t you. However, for the record, you can sing. Don’t know how you lost the words though._

_I told you not to go there. Leave it alone!_ It appeared that either he had a bargaining chip or was about to become one of Avernus’ laboratory experiments. 

_Hey, I like the second one._

_Nobody asked you._

“Is it yours or not?” asked the ever-present growl.

“It sounds like him, yes,” fingers continued their slow stroke over his temple and cheekbone. “But no, no, you are not going to Avernus. No mages, there is enough...problems with that, we do not want you to have a greater issue. As is, it is hard to control the rumours of madness. ‘Abomination’ need not be added to that, as the Chantry is looking for an opening in our guard.”

_’And that’ll go over just like knocking down the Circle Tower,’_ quipped the voice that wasn’t his own. _’Love, would you please show this son of a motherless goat how to use his Warden abilities properly? His pathways aren’t set and it’s very difficult. I swear if he couldn’t sense darkspawn, he would have tripped over them.’_

He was going to have to find another way to obtain silence, that much was clear. Hand covering his eye, the talking in the head thing didn’t help the little bit of headache he had remaining. Ferox knew he was in over his head. Eye socket sore as if bruised, he was apprehensive about this new inventive punishment. 

Zevran made an apologetic noise, the surprising softness of lips brushed over his, _’I will, but I need rest and he is ready to flee again.’_ With that he withdrew, freeing him, “I can show you how to use the ability, but...right now I am...there is little left of me, it will take a bit to become accustomed to the pain you carry. Howe has already been informed that today, I am in no condition to play any part in the day to day politics, the others will just have to do it without me. You may remain or go, nothing is expected of you other than what was already said.” 

_If you move, I’m going to ask him to let you go to your fort...my fort. But you won’t be seeing the top like you want to because you’ll be too busy climbing all of those stairs over and over. Took me this long to be heard, you aren’t going to ruin it. Now, I don’t like making his headache worse either, so you get to explain._

Making it clear that he was not particularly willingly to be doing the demon’s bidding, one who could talk endlessly, “I am told not to go, said it was hard to reach you.” 

“I do not wish to force you to stay if that is not what you desire, as you are the one who has control over the body, and you are already...damaged...I try to do as little to you as possible,” it was sighed and the elven form moved from the bed, adding wood to the fire and rebanked it, before making two mugs of tea. “You have far less control than you should, as well as a tendency to act out, thus why I have had to put limits upon you, when you should be allowed to act as yourself... However, as has been said before, there are many others at stake other than your current self and autonomy. Tea?” holding out the mug as he sat back down. “It is nothing but black tea, cardamom, black pepper and cinnamon. It helps for headaches, even if only a little.” 

Pushing from the mattress to sit up, _In for a copper, in for gold_. The little shard was still safe, he hoped and reached for the mug. He was already dead and not like he wasn’t willing to take a fall to change the reality. 

_I get to threaten that, not you. And he still gets pissy when I do it. I’m surprised you only got sent to your...MY room._

He wasn’t going to ask, he didn’t want to know what could be worse. 

_So glad you asked -_

_I didn’t._

_Yes, well you didn’t and I don’t care. I get talked at and he makes these faces that are really horrible. I think he may’ve even gone off to cry once or twice._

_That doesn’t sound very bad._

_You’re right, but it makes me feel like shit. So if you make him do those things - I will hurt you and not give a single frell. That’s my body you’re sitting in and I’ve found all the levers up here, and I’m not afraid to use them even if he won’t. Especially if he won’t._

It was going to be difficult to choose which one was the head demon between these two. Currently he could go either way. The one without was raw with power, but refused to use it for the most part. The one within could torture him and was willing to. One to entice, the other to force - which was worse? It was little wonder the two had bound themselves to each other. 

Cheerily the voice in his head joked, _After all, a demon in the head is worth two in the Fade._

“Not to disagree with either of you, but I’m going with the demon in my head. I’ll stay here.” _Compromise? Survival._

Zevran drained the mug and lay back down with a sigh, moving to one side of the bed, giving him the bulk of its space, “Very well then, just...hopefully you can find it in yourself to believe that the intention and desire on my part is to not force you to do anything, at least, not for my sake or preferences.” 

Great, a middle man for two demons. Yes, this happened often, but usually they were fighting each other and he was called in to arbitrate and pass judgement on one side or another, or kill them. This ‘don’t do it for me’, ‘do it for him anyway or I’ll hurt you’, was going to get him in trouble, he knew it. There was no right answer to the one except for ‘yes, ser’ and ‘I’m doing this of my own free will’ to the other. The biggest problem was that one of them heard both answers. Wait, or was it both of them? The elf beside him always seemed to know - without having to search him specifically. 

_Catching on, are you? Everything you do, he knows - without me having to inform him. Just because he doesn’t pry at your thoughts constantly, doesn’t mean he doesn’t know. He does it to me, he does it to you, and Maker knows we’re not the only ones. Finish your tea, then take a nap - it’ll help that headache. I think what you have left is only mine, as my crazy elf took all of yours. No wonder you’re so frelled up, I’m bettin’ you couldn’t even think straight, ‘cause I was having a hard time seeing through the fog and it wasn’t really hurting me._

Mug empty, he set it on the table next to the bed before laying back down. Not certain why, he settled his spine into the mattress and sighed before closing his eyes. For the record, he didn’t choose to be there and would have been, well, not happy, but not horribly unhappy in his own corner of the Fade. 

_Healer says that the Archdemon rips through and damages the Wardens. I know your Loghain killed it, but you’re...well, like you are and that blast was really big, and boy did that smart. I was there and killed my own, and it hurt enough to take me out for a couple of weeks or more. Don’t worry, your body’s no doubt in some infirmary in the fort, they’re not going to let you die...again..._ The demon kept talking, _Now, I know you don’t like words, but your brain is clear enough to listen for a minute. About this whole Fade dream or death, I don’t think you’re far off - I mean I’ve wondered too. The whole voice in your head thing notwithstanding, nobody’s asked for my soul, other than one of those named demon types, you know, Rage, Pride, Desire, Hunger and Sloth. What I do know is that if this really was the Fade, then he’s a Spirit of some sort, because he doesn’t want your soul, he only wants you to be happy. Tall order, I know, trust me, I know. But it’s all he’s ever worked towards as long as I’ve known him, which is far longer than you have. Search me, I’ll share. It’s the best ‘proof’ I’ve got._

He had no intention of looking. A demon in his head or otherwise could fabricate any memory it chose. And if, slim possibility though it be, the demon was telling the truth - then the supposed Spirit was dead in his realm, and Lels too, and Rory. _NO!_ It was just another lie to make him give up and give in, to hand over the last shred of self. To make him not want to leave so that he wouldn’t be all alone with the agonizing pain in his head and the chanting and the crying. Was that it then, the price of his soul? Would it be weighed by his pain? It was almost... _NO!_ It was not almost anything. _NOTHING, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WAS WORTH IT!_ Breathing slowly - Rage was a demon too - he willed himself to sleep, something that was so difficult to obtain when the pounding in his eye was constant. Usually he would work himself to exhaustion as they walked and fought through the night, falling over just before dawn to find a few hours rest before the constant hammer smashing into his head became too much to take again. 

Drifting, he had dreams that the demons were talking, but since it was quiet whispers and soft murmurings, he didn’t tell them to stop even when he realized that his hand was stretched out touching warm skin. 

_’I missed you, Love,’_ rumbled warmly. 

_’I cannot express how much... Is this what it was like for you? With Dassan?’_ soul-weariness, affection. _’Before you discovered his baking abilities of course...’_

Amused, _’Harrumph, constantly attacked? Yes. Reeling because he’s nothing like you, yet the face is the same. At least you aren’t called ‘Trouble.’ However, this I would suspect is worse because it is me, **my body**. The question is what gets him ‘home’? After rummaging around up here, I can’t help but think he needs to get what he wants...since arriving he wants to climb to the top of Fort Drakon.’_

_’All he ever had to do was say or give some indication, **querido** , and you know it would be done... I am not infallible, hmn? And...and the children, it is...normally once he is well asleep is when I would go... Ferox, **mi amora** , it is...Len tried to drink poison. He believes he is at fault and must be punished.’_

Agony stabbed the demon who resided in his head, _’Maker...answer the frelling letter Len wrote. Wait, you don’t know about that. It’s on one of the panels over the bed. Go get it.’_

_’Letter?’_ the bed dipped but Ferox didn’t wake up, not fully, just enough to feel the change. In short order the weight was back beside him, _’Oh...oh my...I...Ferox. I do not know what is worse. I just, I do not. He thinks I want to keep him here, Maker, no. Not at the cost of the safety of our children, not at...their belief in you. They do not understand...they do not. And he refuses.’_

_’Could you come here? I’m having trouble moving him.’_

There was a slide, a faint disconnect, his body scooting on the mattress of its own accord, _’I am not sure how wise this is, **amora**. At the moment he is...no, not harmless, but he is not on the attack. He has so little control, I am afraid this will only make it worse. You know how you are also. But unlike him, you have the maturity to understand that while having to share this body is a violation, you know that the best thing to do is to wait until a solution is found.’_

_’He thinks this is a dream, and yes, he can hear us...but he doesn’t believe anything we say. He really believes that we are, everyone is, a demon intent on his soul. Everyone wants something from him and there’s always a cost, and eventually that cost is going to be the only thing that’s his. As far as he’s concerned he’s dead, buried, in that box.’_ A deep inhale filled his dream with the demon’s scent, _’Speaking of which, I can’t find anything about Horse digging him out...no Horse anywhere or anything like him. For all I know, he may be right about being dead if there was nobody to save him.’_

_’I do not understand...why...why is he not there? What of Rory - no. No do not tell me, I knew. Never mind. He has killed off all his support,’_ a sigh as an arm wrapped around him gently. 

_’Just about. Loghain took the blow, I mean...who’s left? I’m looking at an army, werewolves, and golems here and not seeing much else. Wynne?’_

There was a chuckle, _’No, she was gone at the Tower. Oghren, hmn? Sten, Leli, Alistair, Shayle, Wynne, Morrigan, and myself...all dead. However, the Lady of the Forest would not let him die, she may have had a duality, which we all do, but healing is also part of the forest and its ability for destruction.’_

A snort, _’I think if he could have gone up Fort Drakon alone he would have. As it was, he was afraid that who he brought with him was going to turn on him. Maker, up there with only Loghain and Oghren. You gotta admit, it’s a gutsy move, if he truly believes he is dead and everyone is a demon - so stupid. He does wonder if children are ones that have been kidnapped and brought over, demons playing at being them, or other dead children like himself. It’s probably why he didn’t touch them, even knowing that they are your weakness, why he didn’t shove Len away, or hurt him when he came in my room that afternoon.’_

_’ **Joder** , why...? Why must it... Splendid, I am both you viewing Dassan, and Dulsanaya viewing any Zevran...I cannot help but love him, fear for him, wish that there was something that could be done... I wish he could find it in himself to go to Len at least and say that he is ‘not himself’ and that it is not Len’s fault. My reassurances are doing little for the children,’_ there was wetness on his throat, a forehead tucked under his chin, the body that was pressed close, shaking. 

He could feel the demon hide his anger and fear at nearly losing ‘his son’, _’Love, he won’t talk to them. He doesn’t want to know what they are, can’t open the door, not even a crack. Len crawled on the bed and sobbed, and this man couldn’t move. If anything would have driven him to care about another, I would have thought...but all he could think about was what would you do to punish him. Just being in the same room with someone you told him to stay away from was enough reason to fear what he knows you could do.’_

_’Braska! He was **armed** , ready to attack! Of course I told him to stay away! If he had not looked ready to... Maker, I thought he would throw Len. They are defenseless, they come first. And I never punished him...I let him pound out his anger. Two of my ribs were broken, **amora**. I only told him what I would do if he threatened them again.’_

_’I know, I see here. He was going to kill Light, but only if she attacked first. Yes, he wanted her to, wanted finally to be able to hit something. And yes, there are thoughts of using the children against you, but that question of what they are, appears to be enough to stop him at the moment. He doesn’t want to get close enough to actually find out whether they’re demons, dead, or kidnapped children.’_

_’She is smarter than most people.’_

Another sigh from the one in his mind, _’As for you, he thinks you were showing him that you were stronger and that physically he could not take you...a taunt.’_

A snort, _’No news there. He is a rogue in a warrior’s body. He has no idea how to move you properly. And I for one, am not going to teach him.’_

_’I’m just grateful that he keeps cursing the body instead of figuring out how to use it. That’s the other thing though, what makes you...us, demons in his mind. As far as he’s concerned you have enough power to take his body and give him this other one, or change his, altering it so much that it’s no longer his.’_

_’I do have enough to...control him, and prevent him from doing harm. I could even take his mind apart and just leave you in control, but you know that,’_ the body moved and the scratch of pen came upon paper. _’It would make life easier, yes. But it would be wrong. I cannot...I can no more harm him than I could bear to harm you. Hurt, yes, if necessary. Harm? Destroy? No. Not ever, no, I cannot...’_ Coughing, as though on a muffled gag, _’This letter...oh Maker, Ferox...I cannot. How can...how could our son think that for a moment? How, how could he allow Len to think it? No matter what kind of monster a person is...needless cruelty serves no purpose!’_

_’The only things I find here is the belief that if he didn’t touch them, then he didn’t hurt them. You saw what happened to those he did touch. I suppose we should be grateful for that...he’s not totally heartless. Maker, it could have been worse.’_

_’What of Oren? Oren worshiped you...’_

_’Doesn’t look like he’d get near him and he was so damaged that nobody in their right mind would have left Oren to his care...if anybody deserved the name ‘Algere’, it’s him. He was left alone by most everyone, except those he was figuring out how to control...Rory.’_

There was more shifting, the room’s smell intensified briefly, smoke tickling the back of his throat, and then the demon was back in the bed once more, _’The letter is done, but truthfully he should deliver it. So that Len does not suspect I wrote it. Even if he does not give it to Len personally, just...seeing him. I am afraid...Ferox, I am so afraid...’_

_’Tell me, Love. I don’t know anything except for what he sees.’_

_’For our family. For Ferelden... I received a letter from Fergus, questioning your health. There are rumours that you have gone mad, or that I have drugged you and imprisoned you, that you have become my puppet.’_ Moist lips brushed over his jaw. _’If it were not for the fact that you were crowned King after becoming Regent... The Landsmeet can do nothing. We have our supporters, yes. But there are still the Chantry’s agents. Word from Leli is not good either. Orlesian nobles are claiming you are held hostage or that Len is held hostage, by those who wish to support the pagan elves and their interests. That the Qun’ari are being courted and offered launching points for the rest of Thedas - that rumour has spread to Nevarra, **querido**. We do not have time for his tantrums and threats, and I have so little that I can do...’_

_’What does Faizal say? No doubt that a fruit basket with a stack of an accompanying set of books came before any Fereldens noticed any difference. I swear that man can read minds at great distances,_ sarcastic, yet still said with great humor and a hefty dose of affection. 

_’He has offered the use of his best **pintores**. Or to even ship Zama, as well as an entourage of tacticians. And more Crows to deal with the Orlesians. Some have already been dispatched to Nevarra to muffle the flames of the fire this ‘illness’ has caused. Leli will work with the Orlesian cells. Eamon is being as useful as he can be, but you and I both know how ‘effective’ he is.’_ Blankets were tucked up higher and hands slid over his shoulders familiarly. _’That is what has been the unofficial statement - that memories from the Blight and Amaranthine have triggered a relapse due to extreme duress and a bout of flu. It is good that you are known to have occasional tantrums and out of character behaviour... But this has gone on for several weeks...over a month. Bad news travels far too fast. I told Fergus to come for a visit, he will at least back up the claim that you are in a fugue due to a relapse, and not gone mad.’_

_’Maker. I am so glad you are here.’_ He felt a churning of thought as if his life was a stack of maps being flipped through looking for answers. _’Make him deliver the letter, then take him to the Fort, it’s the only place he wants to go. You won’t let him go off the edge so that’s not a danger. Maybe there’s something up there, something leftover that we can’t see...but that’s all I got in here. And, frell, if that doesn’t work, Zama-mama seems to be the next best bet. I’d hug you but that arm of mine is waaay over there somewhere.’_

_’I may very well have to fight him in the Fade or guide him to his place if that does not work,’_ fingers wrapped around his wrist, pulling his arm around the demon which released another of those agonized sighs. _’ **Amora** , as much as I cherish speaking with you...my head...it is... No, I will not complain about something he has suffered with the bulk of his life, if I can take that from him and give him relief, no matter how brief, it is something I can do for him.’_

_’That pain is nearly enough to break him and yet at the same time he holds onto it like a lifeline. It’s almost like how he holds onto his soul or the desire to have his own body back...they’re the only things that are his. Taking it away nearly broke him, he tried to prevent you from having it, even though he didn’t have any idea how to go about that. And now he’s convinced that it will cost his soul not to have that agony back...he wants to give in and at the same time he argues to have it all back.’_

_’But I do not want to break him! I want nothing from him! I expect nothing of him other than to be courteous and not make matters that are already difficult, even more so as I seek for something to be rid of this puzzle...I am only one person! He has nothing I desire other than you!’_ it was angry and agonized, incredulous, though knowing. _’I would do more to help him, I crave it, **amora**. He is an injured, frightened little boy, and I cannot help but have my heart break for him. But my first responsibility is the children, the country, you, then if there is anything else left over...’_

_’Why have manners when you are the only real person? What do demons and other undead care about them? Frankly, you should just be glad that he doesn’t talk much, otherwise some boy’d be gettin’ his mouth washed out by Moira.’_ The voice in his head sighed again. It was a near constant thing replacing the missing child’s voice. _’Come, Love, you need sleep. I will keep watch and wake you should he begin to surface.’_

An odd feeling, overwhelming, a warmth, something that was the exact opposite of the agony he lived with, filled him, beyond the absence of pain. In its own way it was horrific, this antithesis of pain, it was too pure. Too solid and too real, wrenching like he imagined the melody of the Golden City to be like. And in that feeling, that wash of brilliant sunlight that didn’t hurt him, came the demon’s voice, _’I love you too, **querido**.’_

The response back was not even close to what was received, even he could tell that much, but it was still too much for someone who had never felt anything like this. Certainly, he had loved his mother and father, Nan, of course, and when Fergus wasn’t picking on him, he idolized his brother, but there wasn’t anything when he was alive that was even close and definitely nothing after dying. Protesting, he tried to push it out of his mind, both of them, all of it, but he didn’t have any say in the matter. He cursed the demons, all of them, for showing him this thing that almost made him think it would be worth giving in just to have another taste. 

Something that must be sadness, or whatever the demons would call it, as the nearby demon looked straight at his thought and knew him, _’It was said and given for you also, Ferox.’_

He didn’t want it, he wanted to get away and was angry that they could invade even this time when he was supposed to rest. Even so, the demon’s scent soothed him, its touch easing him back down with it. And the pain was still gone, distantly sensed through whatever unholy connection stretched between them, the demon containing it and suffering in his stead. It was very, very clever, perhaps such a trick would work on another deadman, one that could be tricked into believing that he was a person, one that would feel guilt for allowing the creature to feel such pain for his benefit. But he wasn’t that one, he was far too wary, and strong enough not to be moved by such demonic charades. 

Every step down the corridor to the nursery made him shake, the demons were working together. He didn’t want to go there, he wasn’t supposed to go there, it was a trap, an excuse to punish him. The voice in his head kept telling him that all he was doing was knocking on the door, delivering the letter, and walking away. Afterwards they would go to the Fort just like he wanted to. He couldn’t believe that he would finally get what he had wanted. But they had discovered what he wanted and there would be a cost, always a price to pay for getting what he wanted. Even if he did bargain for it, even if he said he wanted to go to the Fort and the demons had named their price -  It was a trap. No matter what the Lover-Partner-Zevran demon said, that all he had to do was go to the nursery, give Len the note, and that if he was feeling generous, touch the top of a child’s head. Reassure them in a small way, and leave. It was a trap. It was a trap. That was his new chant, the pain gone, demanding he find a new mantra. 

When the door opened, he saw the dark haired child notice him first, then hang his head, going straight to a corner, in spite of what the demon who reminded him a bit of Lels tried to do. The others were watching him, an elven one that looked like an exact replica of the demon beside him, perking up, glancing from him to Zevran, to the one called Len, and toddled over to the corner and sat beside the older child-demon-whatever, as though they were both demonstrating that they were being ‘good’ by punishing themselves. All the small sets of eyes were on him, watching, but the females were holding the other children back from rushing him. The large mabari had taken one look at the demon at his side, the bitch’s great head cocked, then paced away, giving him space, but still intently watching for any misstep. It was a gauntlet, a trap. 

_No._

_Well then say, ‘Len come here.’_

_No._

_Well then, you’re going to have to walk past that mabari._

_No._

_Maker, you are stubborn. Just hold out the letter then._

Zevran helped him, squatting, arms open, “ _Mis hijos_ , Len, come here. Helion, come and I will hold you, hmn? Daddy has a letter for you all, yes?” 

Helion was the first up, tugging on his older brother, then fell upon his bottom theatrically, for which Len responded, quickly helping the toddler up, and guiding him to Zevran. Both boys were embraced tightly, kissed, and turned a little to face Ferox. Len could not meet his gaze, ashamed and shrinking back against the demon for protection and clutching his hands, obviously to keep from darting forward to collide with his legs the way the creature had done before. 

Extending the folded letter to Len, he astonished himself, “The blanket helped,” the everlasting growl firmly in place. _Are you finished with me?_

_Not until he takes it and he’ll probably thank you. Just nod and bite your tongue, it might help._

Small hands reached up, accepting it, “Thank you Daddy... I..we...we miss you. Please get better soon. You can have my blankie again if you like.” It was a shy and serious face that turned up to him, wary, nervous. “I’ll be good and take care of them until you’re better. I promise Daddy.” 

Somehow his hand came out, it must have been the demon, and he pushed a few dark curls from the tanned face. “Good boy.” A blond head bopped itself onto Len’s shoulder, gold eyes inquisitive and hopeful as well. He couldn’t bring himself to touch the child, but he also managed for that one, “Good boy.” 

The toddler’s face lit up brightly, showing off a mouth not quite full of teeth, and a hand was kissed, air blown at him. Len on the other hand was more solemn, nodding as he hugged the letter tight. Zevran leaned down enough to whisper to them that they were good, that they were loved, and to go to their mother for cuddles as he and ‘Daddy’ had to go, but that he would be back soon for story time. As soon as they were out of the nursery, partially down the stairs, the demon turned on him as he had expected, grabbing one of his hands, and kissing the knuckles, an action that made him flinch, but it wasn’t an attack. 

“Thank you,” as fast as that his hand was released. “Thank you, Ferox. Thank you. We go to Fort Drakon now. I am sorry, I had not known that was where you wished to go.” 

Demons who could change his body, who could read his mind, talk in his head, make him do things, take away the red hot pokers in his head...yet visiting children, this had to be done with free will. It was a trick, a trap, and in another minute or two he wouldn’t have a soul to call his own. He braced for pain with every breath, and with each step he tensed his shoulders tighter and tighter as they hiked across a foreign Denerim. Green was everywhere, goats and sheep in strange internal pastures, buildings of a queer design. 

_Zevran designed them._ Of course the demon had - it was his realm. _Hey now, the Archdemon razed the city nearly to the frelling ground - you know that. We just have had years of rebuilding going on. Don’t hate just because we’re ahead of where you are._

_Fuck off._

People in the streets stopped and stared, before quickly moving on their way, going about their business, not looking at him. _Well, there goes the rumour that he killed me. Or that he imprisoned me. Good._

_Fuck off - he didn’t let me go outside the palace and even limited that._

_Sure, sure. You’re the one who decided that staying cooped up was the better idea. Or not asking if there was anything that could be done to deal with the boredom. That’s on you, not him, not me._

Simmering anger, _Listen closely demon, I’ve had enough. I couldn’t see. You don’t have Chasind eye coverings. I hate the sun because it hurts. Rummaging up there you should have figured that out!_

The ranting and venting continued until he wished for the headache to return or a horse to kick him in the head, it felt the same, _Oh I know it hurts, but hey, look around - does it hurt right now, asshole? That’s what I thought. It doesn’t. You’re not even squinting, and it’s noon._

 _Yes, I like fresh air. When I was in your room, with the shutters closed and no fire, the pain was there. You were there. Yes, it’s gone now. Yes, I’m outside. And yes, your memory is very short._

The demon in his head mocked him, _And we do have Chasind eye coverings, because I like to go hunting outside Highever when we visit. Three pairs. You could have asked and you didn’t. Again, your fault, not ours. You’re a fool who would cut his nose off to spite his face. And no one can talk sense into you - but hey, look, you’re getting what you wanted. We’re at Fort Drakon, and the only thing asked of you was to undo some of the damage you did._

_For the last time, I didn’t do anything!_

_Oh yeah! Tell that to Len, my son who is only six years old, technically also your son since we have the same blood. He tried to kill himself because he thought his father hates him. I hope you suffer for eternity, Zevran may find it in himself to love you, but I have no such qualms or compunction. I didn’t like his duplicate, and I don’t like you either. Now take your damn look around bloody Fort Drakon and go back to your realm and leave me and mine alone!_

All the way up the way up the stairs the venting and ranting continued. He knew that he was snarling and snapping like any dog. Somewhere in the stairwell he finally snapped out, “ **Shut the fuck up!** ”

Zevran halted, looked at him, through him, “Are you antagonizing him? Please...just...he undid some of the harm, I am grateful. Leave him be, please, _querido_. Do not make me beg.” The hand that came out hesitated, then slowly stroked his jaw, “He will go back to where he belongs, _amora_. We just have to keep calm until then, we just have to wait. We will be at the top in a moment, I pray he finds the answers he seeks there. Aggravating him serves no purpose but to vent rage at him. You would not beat a rabid dog for being rabid, you would remove it. Which we are trying to do - remove him from where he does not belong.”

The voice relented to the point where it wasn’t talking anymore, but the muttering and grumbling in the background continued.

 _This_ was his punishment. The demon in his head, it had cursed him. It punished him for having hurt the things it protected. But he hadn’t _done_ anything. Not on purpose. He had taken no action.

Nothing had been atop Fort Drakon. Scars from the battle had been in the halls, some at the top, but the Fort had been changed and vastly expanded. Denerim had become a starburst in its design, the streets staggered, buildings made defensible, the port city was obviously much changed and made not quite unrecognizable. It was a corner of the Fade that could withstand anything. But whatever he thought he would find there at the top, hadn’t been present. Standing at the spot he had determined as where he had been prior to arriving wherever here was, he asked for the pain back, hoping that that last missing piece of himself was part of the key. Reeling backward as it was handed over, the force of it was sufficient to bring him to his knees with a scream, clutching at his skull. Crawling forward back to where Loghain had killed the Arch Demon, he waited, wanting to die again. For how long it was left to him, Ferox’s world was agony and he couldn’t keep the time. The gold skinned demon shook his head with false apology and great disappointment, its arms taking him up and cradling him as it had in the stairwell. It took the pain away as soon as it was obvious that the pain wasn’t a key, with a grunt of effort freed him of the constant pounding. Inside his mind, the demon admonished him to help Zevran back to the palace, who was swaying with a hand to his temple, staggering with each step, refusing to do more than lean lightly, until he swung him up over his shoulder... 

Staring at the coloured spell embedded in the ceiling, following the designs and the pictures it made, _It’s just a ceiling to keep the room warm enough for Zevran, not a frelling spell._ Ferox snorted, disbelieving. _Alright fine, the script is supposed to be some sort of thing for long life. To fight off the Taint and slow it down. Just like his and my tattoos._

In its lair the demon rested, separate from him, sending him away from its comforting scent, away from the diffuse warmth and otherworldliness of its room. It had also handed him a pair of Chasind eye protectors, fished from a box in ‘his’ room before it allowed itself to stagger away. For whatever reason, he had seen it to that colourful room, scenting its weakness, not that he knew what to do with that information. Attacking it would be futile, as it could immobilize him before he took action, or even simply unleash the agony back to him with a thought, which would serve the same purpose. But it had still sent him away, telling him to do as he pleased within the rules set before. 

In the room the tunic ‘blankie’ had returned, along with other small offerings. Two stuffed mabari and a tiny pillow meant for a small person. Another piece of paper, with messy drawings of stick people, names written under each, hearts and stars. With a shudder he had put them far from himself. He had never come across demons like these, they were insidious, crafty, patient, while taking care to not ‘pressure’ him as they enticed. His eyes and head did not hurt except in a faint and dull throb from having carried his pain for a brief time.

_It wasn’t a trap._

Denying with a snarl, _It was and still is a trap!_

_I want my life back, you want your life back, my family wants me back. If there had been some frelling way that being on Fort Drakon would have sent you back, oh I would have been so pleased if it had worked. But it didn’t. Now we have to figure out something else to do._

Digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, “What the fuck do you want from me?!”

_For you to leave. But I can’t have that right now, now can I? So I’ll settle for you going back to him._

_He told me to leave!_

The demon went quiet for long moments, before it pulled out the threat he dreaded. _I can make you sing again. Would you like that? Or maybe I could sing to you. Or maybe we could talk about Nan and Mother and Father and Fergus, nice family memories. Do you remember Nelaros? The little elven boy who used to play with us? I remember when he broke his leg before the box. You swooped in to keep him still, while Fergus ran to get Nan, but you kept him calm. Like a knight would, huh? I remember that’s what I was thinking - that a Lord took care of his people._

That drove him from the room back to the head demon’s lair, not even bothering with a knock, just rushing in. He refused to be subjected to _that_ punishment again. It had been worse than the starry-eyed pain that had made everything else appear as nothing by comparison. Nothing was solid, nothing was real. 

Zevran groaned, sitting up, a weapon in hand, rising into a crouch on the mattress, “What is it?”

Quickly, “I want to be in here,” his back to the door, pressed tight as he growled. It wasn’t a lie - he wanted to be in there rather than sing and march or be sung to or forced to see what he had no wish to. 

A blink and the weapon was put away, the nude golden form snagging a pair of trews and pulled them back on, covering itself. “Do as you wish.” Temples were rubbed and he- _It!_ \- slid back under the covers, smoothing them from the rumpled state they had tangled themselves into. “Make yourself comfortable in whatever fashion you desire, _querido_. I will not bother you.”

Meaningless words, but as he was not yelled at or thrown out, he stayed. Sliding down the door he sat on the floor, back still to the door. He kept giving in and hating it every time he was driven to it time and time again. No other demons did this, certainly the Sloth demon at the Circle Tower thought he knew things, but everything was off. Here, they knew everything about him, yet the setting was off - explained conveniently away with ‘another Ferox’. This one said that he didn’t want anything, well except for the letter thing, but it was asked and not demanded and was left as a choice. The one in his head, who claimed to be this ‘other’ - he didn’t even know where to start with that. It _sounded_ like a twin of himself, was mad enough to be, certainly growled like him - it was a trick. One told him to go away, the other sent him back. All of it was a trick and a trap. How did they do it? What if it was just the one and the other being some sort of mind manipulation? He wanted to go home, but they didn’t allow deadmen there.

He had made the mistake of closing his eyes. The demon moved too silently and the almost familiar gesture of fingers sliding over his skull startled him, “Ferox - I am sorry it did not work. Is there anything that I can do for you? I thought you would wish to be away from me, else I would have invited you in, _amora._ And no, that is not directed to my husband, apologies Ferox, but I know you well enough to be aware that you are chafing, I understand, but he is...troubled. And he is also the one in control of your body, so please forgive me for giving him preferential treatment.”

_’Troubled... If that isn’t the understatement of the year, I don’t know what is. Dassan’s gotta meet him... Trouble indeed, he’s giving the rest of us a bad name.’_

Faintly smiling, “No one could give you a bad name, _querido_. At least, not in my eyes, hmn? Now,” the gold eyes refocused as though no longer looking through him, leaning back so that he wasn’t so close to Ferox’s face, “I am going to guess that _mi corizon_ urged you to come here, or that if you came on your own volition...” A sigh, “Are you comfortable on the floor? You do not have to stay there if you find it uncomfortable. There are chairs. The situation is bad enough, without you having to be uncomfortable, _amora_. But it is up to you - and no Ferox, do _not_ bully him.”

“It doesn’t matter, fire demons and shrieks come out of the floor or walls, spiders from the ceiling, Revenants from bottles...probably under the beds and in wardrobes, too...”

Those fingers were still sliding along the seam in his skull, perhaps that was how the demon was able to know his thoughts. “It is your call, _querido_ , yours alone. If you are thirsty there is a kettle by the fire, tea in the marked jars on the table, a pitcher of cool water by the window. For now I am going back to bed. Stay where you are if that is what _you_ wish to do. Sit or lay down, or grab a blanket or a pillow. It is gift enough for me that you are near.” His hand was taken slowly, lips pressing between the massive knuckles that were not his own and then the demon was once more separate, leaving space between them, the bed making quiet noises against its too perfect form.

A gift? A gift was a present. A present from who? The Arch Demon? This Flemeth ‘who never really dies’ - which by its very implication didn’t change his mind about either one being demons - who would know that other than another demon? Dead is dead, or undead for a few minutes if it happened to be close by. By the demon in his head? If indeed it wasn’t a trick? There were no answers and even if there were, they were all made up by the two he was confronted with. The floor was safer than a mattress because without the blinding headache, he slept deeper and didn’t wake up right away when there was a noise, it was worse if he was comfortable. Even if a fire demon appeared under him, he would rather take his chances with that. The creature in his head wasn’t pleased, however, and the grumbling continued. Because of that he was more certain who the head demon was.

 _’I want to be on the bed with you,’_ it was groused while he drowsed on the floor, back against the door.

 _’He wishes to be there, choice was already taken from him and he is understandably disappointed that the experiment failed,’_ in the background a blanket rustled. _’I had hoped it would work. And when he came in, I had hoped it was because he actually found some comfort near me, even if he could not understand the sensation. Why did you bully him into it, **querido**? Maker, I miss you, I want to hold you and be held, but...but forcing him to do such a thing would not be right.’_

The voice growled in his mind, _’Truthfully, he does want to be in here and sulks when you ‘send him away’. I only made him do what he wanted to. I will admit to bullying him over Len’s blanket, which is back on the bed along with other gifts. The mabari stuffies are particularly disturbing for him. Probably one of the reasons he wanted to be here instead of there.’_

 _’The intention was not to ‘send him away’, only to give him some autonomy... **Joder**...nothing done is correct. Aie, it makes me so tired...’_ The demon was back, squatting nearby, stroking his brow and he felt a soft brush of lips against his. _’How are you holding up, **querido**? Is there anything I can do for  you?’_

_’You are doing too much as it is, you know it. Never thought I would say that I miss what I do everyday. I’m about ready to drive him to read a book, something. He doesn’t think about armour, swords, plants, rebuilding, nothing - it’s all puzzling out this Fade and the rules of it and how you regularly break them or what is a spell...like the ceiling is one.’_

_’Well it is something of a spell, or a good luck wish. It is all based in the strength of the creator’s belief,’_ the demon was beside him, leaning its head against his shoulder, relief flowing from it to him at the contact. _’Remember, he is still a boy in a box in terms of his development. His body may have grown, but his survival hinges, at least in his mind, on understanding what might be thrown at him. So he must control it, observe it, know it, hmn? If he views us all as demons, then he must find weaknesses, a way to control us so that he can choose when to be rid of us. The only issue beyond the fact that we are not demons, is that his observational skills and ability to use logic are...stunted.’_

Anger, frustration rolled from the one in his mind, _’He was so certain that whatever it was that was going take him ‘home’ was on the Fort. This is worse than being a Justified Anders because it’s my body and suddenly **I’m** Justice?? What are we going to do? How are we going to get rid of him?’_

Something warm and comforting was draped over him, a hand slipping to hold his. _’I do not know. Zama will be here soon enough at worst.’_

 _’He keeps talking about wanting to return to his corner of the Fade or wanting to go home, but of course ‘deadmen’ aren’t allowed there, but I’m the one who wants to go home and it’s already here,’_ frustration rolled through him as well as an urge to smack his hand somewhere on his face and rub vigorously. _’I’d tell you to send for the little healer, but that won’t help; she’s said that the Fade isn’t her specialty. I’d smack his forehead into a wall if I thought that’d help. Shake him out my ear or something.’_

 _’Anything to do with the soul and spirit are Zama’s purview, you know this. Depending on what sort of ship Faizal is sending, she could be here in a few weeks, or a month. Hopefully we find some solution before so much time passes,’_ his hand was moved, kissed, each finger, each knuckle, then palm. _’Remember, any physical harm is harm you do to yourself, not him, so it is useless. It is likely why Light did not attack.’_

_’Right now it hurts him, not me and I am no stranger to pain.’_

Exasperation, _’But it is you who will have to deal with the long-term physical repercussions, hmn? If your grey matter is rattled around much more, you might wind up like him, did you think of that? Because I certainly have. Some Crows wind up like this, we study them you know. But the ones who survive, are usually adults when they become like this, not children. While I am glad that Flemeth must have saved his life, she in all likelihood did a shit job on purpose. That is what I think.’_

A sigh, _’Very likely, from what little there is in here. Intentionally leaving damage, or maybe even making more. He thinks that you are trying to feel for the cracks higher up on the back of his head. ‘Course they’re not there, ‘cause it’s my head, but apparently he has his own impressive set.’_

_’It is a wonder that she did not do the same to you... Or perhaps she did, but as your mind was adult, its paths were more set? That might explain the eight years of desert walking though... Then again, Twadd’s barriers were broken down much quicker evidently. Either the other me is more persistent, or more impatient, I cannot decide which...’_

Rumbled chuckling, _’I’m gonna go with the latter. If what the little healer showed you is accurate, as she usually is, then he wasn’t going to wait for Twadd to get out of his shell and went in and pried him out.’_ Teasing, _’Or he could just be more devious.’_

 _’I am leery of forced healing, hence the fact that I made myself wait so long, and why I have not sought to push his mind too much other than for safety concerns,’_ more shifting, as though to get comfortable, it moved him around too, laying him down on the floor rather than keeping him locked tight. _’But his touch might be lighter than mine, hmn? Allowing him to be more devious...’_ He trailed off before picking up again, _’Are you disappointed in me for not pushing him, **mi hermoso corizon**?’_

 _’No, not really. I can see the cracks from here, he’s damaged...if any water gets in there and freezes, he’ll break...I just.’_ Another frustrated sigh, _’If he were standing in front of me, I’d kill him. It’s that simple. He doesn’t want this undead existence, but doesn’t know what else to do except kill everything because it’s a demon. It’s the only way for things to be ‘quiet’. He’s still holding out hope of the Golden City, but even that belief is cracking, almost like it’s a story he’s told himself so often, he’s beginning not to believe it anymore. You yourself told him that he was rabid. It’s like the Taint, incurable. ’_

A feeling came from the demon that he could only be likened to the sound Lels made when he poisoned the Ashes, ‘anguish’, and the cry she released when his blade had slammed into her chest, before the second one took her head off, _’It is only incurable if he decides it is... Is it wrong that I wish that he could be saved? He has to want it and to participate for any sort of thing to succeed, but he will not. He is, in essence, a frightened child...it is horrible...if there was anything left that could be done, if there were not so many responsibilities... No one should have to suffer like that. Not for years and years, not for eternity. Hours is bad enough...’_

_’Love, he still wants to kill you. If he does that, he thinks the secret door he can’t find will open and he’ll get to move to the the next realm. Or, if you’re the one who brought him here and changed everything, then it will return to ‘normal’. It’s happened before, it can happen again, experience has taught him this.’_

_’Even so, I cannot help what I feel. I wish that there was something that could be done to help him beyond returning him home. And that it was something he wanted or learned to want or... I do not know. Yes, he is a threat. He is a danger. But he is still a person, one that was done horribly wrong. Maker, what must his Fergus feel? To lose one’s entire family, the sole remaining member damaged due to childhood stupidity at one’s own hands? It is appalling...’_

_’What if my Fergus forgives him?’_

_’Fergus? Forgive him? But it was not... It was not Ferox’s fault. Why would Fergus need to forgive him? There was no Horsie to ‘steal’...’_

_’You’re right. Fine. What if our Fergus says he is sorry or makes up some story...damn it, it’s still a demon to him. Arrrrugh!’_

Yet another sigh, another kiss, a hand stroking his chest through the material of his shirt. _’Shh...let him rest. Fergus is coming anyway to bolster our stance and say that the fit is a known habit. Hmn, you know, you could pull it out for the occasional vacation... Greetings, oh mystical silver lining!’_

_’A known habit?!?_ Incredulous, _’Zevran! What are you doing to me?’_

_’Well there was the throwing me into a wall and carting off Moira like a raider to hand her over to me like a prize spoil of war...you barbarian you...’_ muffled laughter. 

The voice was startled and laughed too, _’I never threw you into and wall...and Moira... That wasn’t a fit, that was a temper tantrum, thrown on your behalf, I might add, and besides that, it was the most fun I had in years.’_

_’Now your most fun is the word game and got-your-nosey,’_ the demon burrowed closer. _’On a slightly more serious note...he sulks when I quote ‘send him away’? Why - is there some reason you have observed?’_

_’Other than you smell good or he likes your room. Or so he can keep track of you...yes, I’m probably making it up, but it sounds plausible.’_

A grumpy sound, _’I have not forbidden him from my room or my presence. He is free to go where he wishes for the most part, he is not a prisoner... If he wishes to stalk me, he is welcome to it, yes? Our inner circle is aware that he is not you, so they know not to take his orders as the words of the Chant. I am shouldering his pain, running a country, coping with the fall out...sexually frustrated, frantic over the children...and lonely without you. Why must he be so recalcitrant? Not that I do not understand it is just...ugh.’_

_’After seeing Len today, I think that this creature is sitting in the corner too, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s in trouble taking his punishment, or watching the entire room because he can’t trust anything. When Len came to my room, after my boy fell asleep, he got up from the chair in the corner, where he always sits, and went to the library. When he got there he wedged himself into a corner protected by a couple of walls and a bookcase. He was sitting here against the door. The pain is a punishment, or you will hand down punishment, or he deserves punishment and may try to hide something to avoid punishment...it’s all about that.’_

_’If only it could be so easily fixed or lessened by a letter saying that he is loved and punishment was unnecessary,’_ sadness bled into him from the creature. _’It is likely for both reasons. He deserves punishment for some reason, so must keep vigilant and prevent it by any means necessary...including punishing himself so that he is overlooked...’_

_’Other than killing everyone...well...every demon, which is most everyone. I don’t remember getting into any particular trouble that really stands out from that time though. Maybe Fergus might. He has thoughts like when he smacked his head, that the pain made him real... I thought maybe it was to distract from the actual pain he couldn’t affect,’_ the voice was uncertain. 

There was a whimper, _’You might wind up with some temporary piercings then if that will help him, then that is what will occur. Sometimes...pain is necessary. But it needs to be doled out, measured, not...every which way like a stampede.’_ Scooting and shifting, a quiet curse, _’I wish he would chose to sleep in a bed, the floor is cold! And hard.’_

_’Cold may be more punishment he is heaping on his head. You could get a blanket to lay on, a rug, or one of those thick pelts. Mmm or that cloak! Frell, don’t get me started on furs, this is too frustrating by half.’_

_’Bah, I may ‘punish’ him and send him to a proper mattress!’_ the Demon-Lover-Partner moved away, returned, lifting Ferox’s head and sliding something beneath it. _’Yes, well, this has been the longest we have ever gone...an exercise in restraint. I am half cursing myself from stopping him when he was going to try and seduce me...clumsily albeit, but truly I did not wish to use him so poorly. Still do not.’_ The demon cuddled up again, _’When you return to full control, I promise, you will have me on a pile of furs before a nice banked fire and plenty of finger foods, **querido**.’_

A snort, _’You won’t have time for all that preparation. If I were you, I’d just scamper off to somewhere private ‘cause that’s all the warning I’m givin’,’_ the rumbled thoughts of what the demon wanted were just on the edge of thought. 

_’I will do my best to make sure that it is not a closet,’_ teasing. 

_’Please, it would be good if one of us was able to think...definitely not a wardrobe - ‘_ pained humour remembering the surprise, _’ - those things tip over.’_

The laughter was warm and rich, filling his dream up with heat before it tapered off. _’Oh no, we need room to spread out, at least a desk’s worth.’_

_’At the very least, although, I admit, I’d rather a thick mattress, if I get to be choosy. But I have to tell you, Love, this floor’s looking pretty good with you here.’_

Brief growling, _’Tempter.’_

_’Hey, I’m not the one with the Desire demon style piercings...’_

_’Oh do not go there, that would make my brain break, and that is most unwise...hmn...silver ones. That would most certainly be quite becoming on you... Braska! Evil tempting thoughts, mph...’_ the line of a spine was pressed to his side, the elven appearing demon rolling over. _’Enough or I will do something I should not and said I would not...’_

_’I don’t think it matters, he already believes you’re a Desire demon too. Came up with that on his own before I could find a way to talk to him.’_

_’Even so, I am not going to foist myself off on him. If he chooses, yes, but not a moment before,’_ it was adamant. _’I will not add to the damage he has already been subjected to, not willingly, and not because I am about to crawl out of my skin for missing your touch.’_

_’Not even for a memory of a lotus?’_ the voice rumbled so deep nearly causing shivers down his spine. 

_’Hah - and he thinks that I am the Desire demon? You ser, that is squarely upon those broad shoulders of yours and in that ruggedly handsome face...’_

_’I’m afraid it’s the only option open to me at the moment. The floor’s hard, he’s cold and I am incredibly bored and missing you terribly,’_ yet another sigh. Were the demons’ sighs like the Chantry bells with a regular interval between them? 

_’He must be given the option, if he says no, then that is unfortunately what will have to be...’_ Fingers slid over his face, firmly, seeking to draw him from the drifting, “Ferox. Ferox, will you come to bed instead of this floor? Please?” 

The pressure keeping him in a dozing state lifted. He opened an eye, suspicious, “Why do you want me there?” 

“My arguments mean nothing, but I will say them as you have asked. Because my head hurts as does my body, I miss my husband, and you are currently in his body, so I wish to be close to him. That is why I am here on the floor with you, _amora_. But the bed is more comfortable and what I am used to. I will not force you to the bed, but I am asking. Say no and I will remain here on the floor with you, say yes, and we will both be on the bed instead,” it was serious, absent of demand. 

Attention gained by the continuing touch, “I don’t like games. I don’t like compromises. Even if I say ‘no’, I’m driven to it. I would leave the two of you alone. Or are you one? Wherever I go, he does too.” 

The expression was pained, “No. I am trying to give you choice. Not his choice, not my choice, your choice. It is not compromise, I just...need to be near. Even in that you could send me away." 

“Oh no.” An almost bark, the closest thing to a laugh, “I know a trick when I hear one. I’m not singing tonight. You say choice, I see good choice and bad choice. That is no choice.” 

“Then another choice instead - this bed here or the one in your room? Both are comfortable and equally pleasing to me. There is no good and bad choice between those.” 

It was another non-choice. He sighed, as the voice did not, even though it was ‘time’, “Get in your bed, demon. I’m not sleeping with a ‘blankie’ or any other toy,” pulling off the blanket and grabbing up the pillow. He had thought that the purpose of sleeping on the floor was not to be able to sleep much at all. 

The demon released a relieved groan, flopping on the mattress, waiting until he was on the bed before touching his chest, “Thank you.” Hand slipping down to slide beneath his so that its hand was pinned under the weight of his, the washing warmth seeped into him, _’Thank you.’_

As he closed his eyes waiting for sleep, he couldn’t help but complain to put into meaningless words what he hated, “Go away, go closer, don’t touch, touch, don’t go near the children, go to them - you need to coordinate better. Unless that’s your technique, in which case, you’ve got it down.” He was about to write a new rule for this section of the Fade, do what the Desire Demon wanted unless the Voice overruled it. How could it be the head demon then, if its decisions could be reversed? 

“When I say that I am going to my room, or that I must go do things...it is not intended as ‘go away’.” The demon rolled over, facing him, its touch frightening and painfully soft on his jaw. “It is not meant as ‘I do not wish to be around you’. Or to ‘leave me alone’. Or to send you away. Yes, sometimes I am upset and need to be away from you, but that is not a permanent thing, _amora._ Nor is it punishment, it is just that you are very difficult to be around. I find myself having to hold back from reaching for you, from embracing you or kissing you, or telling you of my worries and fears and hurts as I would my Ferox. When I say to not go to the nursery it is...you _know_ you are a danger to them. You _know_ that they do not comprehend this situation and only see the body of their father rejecting them or snarling. Such actions hurt them, lay in scars and wounds that take more time and healing than a simple poultice or time can mend, as it is a poison poured into their vulnerable selves. It is for their sake and safety that I ask you to not go there. But it is also for _yours_. They disturb you. Unsettle you with their sounds and their unabashed need of their parent.” 

“As to what my husband says and urges you to do...like me, he wishes to be close to me, but there is this interference. His position has always been the protector, the one in heavy plate, taking the blows and drawing the attention, while I sneak around to strike at our foes. You understand the tactics I am sure, and have employed them in all likelihood in your own battles and life. Your presence throws his ability off, so he does what he can from within to seek to lessen the damage done to me, to them. To him, you are nothing but a thorn, something to be dealt with, thrown away, thrown out, and are a foe he has limited means of removing or taking the threat away. Causing you pain or aggravation is as meaningless to him as you hurting others is to you - it is a mechanism of defense.” Its palm was callused as it slid over his cheek, cupping it, “To me you are a frightened child, when children are scared or confused, they get angry. It is their only means of communicating that they understand. You are hurt, wounded, and the only thing I know how to do, is do my best and to remain steady while you figure out if you wish to be healed or not. That is your choice. But for as long as you are here, then I am here, and you have the option of counting on me to help you, even if you do not take it.” The hand withdrew, “Too many words, none of which you wish to trust, I understand, but they are things that need to be said. It is your choice whether you hear and seek to understand them or not.” 

As he put everything into focusing on what was said, picking out what was important, he couldn’t help but admire the gyrations these two went through in casting their spells - it was the most intricate he had ever run across. Justifying each other’s actions...didn’t matter, they were still saying opposite things. This demon unquestionably had the same ability to babble incessantly just as the one on the road had. Was he really the same one and this was his revenge? ‘Come to my section of the Fade where you can’t get away and I’ll finally make you listen’ - was that what this was? Was the one in his head placed there so he could not escape? If he left the Desire Demon’s presence, got far enough away, would the one in his head vanish because it was actually dependent on the demon’s proximity? Now that was an interesting thought. Would explain why the voice kept wanting him to follow the demon and why it appeared when the demon touched his mind. If he tried that, he better be successful, otherwise the limitation of staying on the Palace Grounds was going to get much tighter, which would limit any other plans he happened to come up with. Leaping from the wall would have been easier, too bad that didn’t work. Would getting the demon drunk work? Did demons drink? They could be poisoned, or at least acted like they were, very reliably. Trouble was, if he got the one in his mind drunk then he would be intoxicated too. However, whenever he had a goal in mind to do something that wasn’t entirely...healthy, he got re-routed. Who was to say that wouldn’t happen in either instance? 

Resting the back of his forearm over his eyes, knowing that the demon’s words combined with that hypnotic gaze was a bad combination, “You really have your shit down or you don’t. If criticism or praise, it depends on what you were doing.” 

He didn’t like the kiss, it felt too good, and anything good, wasn’t real. It made him want more as the mouth pried at his lightly, licking the inside of his lips, all done when he wasn’t the one seeking to seduce. _’I have nothing to say to that, other than to tell you I love you, **amora.** ’_

The thing, creature, demon in his mind snapped - or was it a spring pulled too far, abruptly contracting, not caring what was in the way? - straining forward desperately fighting to return the kiss. The flavour of the sun was a lure that it could not ignore. The flood of sunlight that this creature tried in vain to match earlier, was matched in this need, this desire for the other. The regular sighs which had replaced the chant of pain was now exchanged for a growled chant of _’Love, Love...’_ even as his hands pulled at the demon, following the demands of the voice in the haze of want - suddenly it made sense, the one in his head was either a demon held under the thrall of the other or was a deadman in the same position as himself, but he had given his soul to this one. It would give anything to be in the presence of the Desire Demon, that’s why it forced him in here - it worshiped this thing, only lived for it, and would give its (un)life for it. The creature in his mind had rapidly gained power by that taste, its addiction to this demon flaring, the only thing it wanted was it, and that need was not even close to being met. Obsessed, fixated, it would not hear his protests not to give in to the demon. 

In his arms the creature groaned against his mouth, the taste of its poison, feeding the one in his mind, spread through him with a strength that would have been terrifying if he could step back, _’ **Querido** , no, do not push him...!’_ Its mouth broke away, panting, face pressing tight into his neck, “Oh, _amora_ , I am sorry, I did not mean...it was just supposed to be sweet, not an -” 

But he cut it off, unable to stop, the excuse of the deadman in his head convenient, so he could say that he himself did not want another taste, a hand thrusting into the blond hair, wrenching the head back so he could gain more of that flavour that both comforted and made him wild. The voice had been speaking the truth when it said it could pull the levers in his mind, making him do what it wanted. _Liar!_ Either it was drowning him in this inundation of desire or was moving him directly, it was difficult to tell which. 

The growling rumble, which raised the hairs on the back of his neck, insisted, “More.” 

_He is mine! Give him to me!_ roared in the confines of his mind. 

He didn’t want more, he wanted a corner in the library, to have his back against a stone wall, even being in the box was safer than this, but it wasn’t his choice to make. Zevran - Partner-Lover-Demon _DESIRE!_ \- did not resist, even as Ferox fought and struggled with the demon or deadman in his head that wanted, needed, craved, _demanded_ more. And Ferox was so swamped with it, with his own anger too - anger at the demon of Desire for tasting good, feeling good, smelling good, anger at the thing in his head, forcing him to do this, at himself, worst of all, because he _wanted_ it. The other two, Lels and Rory, had not engendered want of this magnitude, this force, this thing that fed into him in a way that some part of _himself_ wanted to truly give in to. The demon took the pain, quieted the crying, comforted him the way Mother and Nan and Father could, rolled into one and amplified a thousandfold, it offered _too much_. Safety. Belonging. That horrifying wash of sunlight that bathed the corners of the darkness, attempting to smooth sharp broken edges, and gave him _home_. Home was not a place for deadmen. His brother locking him in a box had caused him to be banished from life, and the Maker was testing him, even if he was no longer sure that the Maker was real, that there _was_ any Golden City to reach. But it _felt_ like it was real, right there, right this moment, the throat baring itself as he bit it, angry for not being real, angry for being what he wanted, angry for not fighting him, angry at the boy and man that he pretended to be, would cling to it given the option, angry that he dared not give in. 

Tearing at the linen trews one handed, the other still locked in spilled sunlight, the thrall in his head screaming out its want and repeating it over and over again, _’Love, Love, Love, Love,’_ while his own voice snarled and snapped, “I want, I want, I want, I want,” between every bite, every drowned taste, and every punishing kiss managed. Heat in his hand, straining at the grip, the demon - Desire was exactly what it was, it wasn’t just a demon at all. It _was all things_ Desire, the epitome, the very essence of every hidden, every known, every needed Desire - bucked, its own hands touching him, cupping his head, the other moving across his back. Growling he pulled away, his own clothes getting in the way, every muscle vibrating as he ripped and struggled with his tunic, with his trews, ready to howl, because Desire was still touching him, too soft, too much, too good, each caress containing more of that sunlight it had shown him before. Gentleness was not deserved and could not be earned - he was not worthy of care or concern. He had been thrown away, locked up, and discarded in a garbage trench by a brother he trusted and adored, imprisoned so he could not hurt anyone who was real. 

Taking the broad shoulders, he shoved Desire back down on the bed, pinning it in place, his mouth moving over the shoulders and down. Rory was simple, had been simple, had wanted soft things, the same as Lels, so simple. Desire did not mind, Desire was making noises, arching into the bruising bites, harsh licks, body twitching with every breath. Grabbing a leg he pressed it back, wondering madly if this demon’s body was different than others he had known. It was and wasn’t, the craving haze and fog covered his eyes, demonic piercings gracing perfection, somehow he knew that every single adornment was meant to give pleasure, the entire creation’s sole purpose. Shaking, shuddering, Ferox licked silk covered hardness once, yet his teeth were gnashing and he would harm it, mar it with imperfection, something he couldn’t bring himself to do, not even now. Pure effort of will tore his mouth away, teeth sinking violently into a thigh, eliciting a sharp gasp. 

Fingers were in his hair, too gentle, too soft. Why did Desire touch him this way?! Even when he hurt it. He wanted to tear his hair from his own head, rip his flesh from the bones, so great was his need, that when Desire pushed at his shoulder, pushing him away, Ferox nearly smacked it for inciting the riot and seeking to end the offering, until his eyes focused on the vial of oil, unstoppered, upending the contents to drip and slid down the length, running lower to where it would be useful. Roughly he snatched the vial, pushing the heavy sack aside so that the tilting hips could reveal what was _desired-needed-craved- demanded_. Indrawn breath turned into a moan when he shoved an unkind finger in, testing it, muscles relaxing around the intrusion as he worked oil in brusquely. Why he took an instant of time in this regard, he could only blame the Voice. 

It wasn’t enough oil and he didn’t care. The dueling chants, _’Love, Love, Love, Love, Love,’_ warred with his own, “I want, I want, I want, I want,” snapping and snarling, as he reared up, dragging his body over the golden bronze, black-shot one beneath him. Legs wrapped high around his waist, trembling as he slammed home. _Home!_ his mind screamed, _Forbidden!_ Desire’s spine arched and pressing its lean and muscular chest to his, hands scrabbling over his arms. Clenching his teeth, his eyes shut, every single tendon and muscle locked in place, struggling under the sensation wrapping him up. Beneath him the hips rocked, welcoming him, tightness rippling and flexing around every thrust, a hand clutching at the mattress, the strength of the pounding coupled with Desire’s writhing working them over the bed. Slamming a hand against the headboard, joining the sun kissed, metallic flecked brown one, braced to keep them from sliding through the wall, Ferox poured demand and punishment that he was no longer receiving, the agony had been taken from him, giving punishment he couldn’t mete out to himself, mouth bruising the wide one, Desire accepting everything while giving back that hungry gentleness and comfort, its pleasure reaching up to meet his. 

Time was meaningless, he hurt, and Desire took it, turning it back on him with sweetness and ache. Anger, so much anger that he became Rage - he had been _banished_ from Home. A deadman was _not supposed to be there._ It couldn’t be real, because if it was, then he would be lost as soon as he released, pushed away, shoved into a corner and punished for his presumption. Ferox couldn’t fight, attempting at hanging on to his release, to delay being locked away, forsaken and forgotten by all - these efforts were pushed aside the more time, the more touches, tastes, sounds, thrusts, spent upon this _forbidden home_. Sobbing out brokenly in an enraged and terrified howl as he crashed, his world exploded, wider, stronger than the blast from the Arch Demon, everything gold scintillating in that instant. The unreality he would open his eyes to could not ever be that good again, sent to the dark end of the Fade once more, for each broken rule after broken rule, he would be called to account. And then he would be wrapped up tight, shoved into a box, the screaming agony return and he would be thrown away - useless, unwanted, unneeded, **unworthy** \- it was his punishment. 

Collapsing, panting, a wounded, frantic animal, a boy in a box, arms wound around him, a hand petting his tangled hair, pushing it from his face, the new litany working its way through his ears and in his mind simultaneously, “Shh, it is alright _amora_. Shh, you are safe...it is alright... I am here. You are loved, you are wanted, you are safe, it is alright, I am here.” 

Too weak to fight, too weak to shrink away, unable to resist the taste filling his mouth, Ferox could only refrain from responding. If he didn’t respond, he couldn’t be punished worse than he already deserved. If he didn’t act, nothing further could be blamed on him. The deadman in his head had gone quiet, satiated or removed, it didn’t matter. Desire was still there, still weaving its spell over him with that hypnotic voice, that scarred and smoothed skin, the taste, the smell, the flavour so intense, so heady. It was no wonder the other deadman had given in, craved this creature, had willingly gave his soul... Desire was a terribly beautiful thing. 

He was rolled over onto his back, the blankets settled once more, and Ferox had covered his face with both hands. He couldn’t bear the unreality, he wanted Home, where a deadman like him couldn’t be or exist. Desire was over him, its touch soft, tender, lips pressing to the backs of his hands, kissing them as though it was his face, until somehow he found his eyes open, meeting pure gold, the sort of gold the Maker’s City had to be made of. 

A branded cheek pressed to his once it saw his eyes were open, “Shh, it is alright, Ferox. Rest, I will be here with you. You are safe, you are loved, you are wanted.” 

Everything that he wanted was offered, given, held out for him to take and he could not - the cost was too high. The absence of agony, the return to Home where he could be held safe and warm in that blinding light, told that someone wanted or even dared to love him... _No, not me! Never me! Unworthy! Dirty! Rabid! Diseased! Leper! Outcast! Unclean! **WRONG!**_ Forever he had held this sharp shard that was his soul, his hand clenched so tightly around the sliver that it pierced the palm of his hand, it was the only thing he had left, the only thing that was genuinely his. The world that was shown, was the most enticing thing he had ever seen, ever, truthfully wanted. For a moment he nearly opened his hand, but the coin was too dear and he could not part with it. 

“Rest - you and I are both tired, _amante_ ,” the lips touched his lightly, not opening, only giving a hint of that remembered taste, Desire settling back down beside him. “I love you both, I cannot help it, you both need it.” 

He didn’t let himself think. He just did it. He left. There were items he could ‘sell’ if he had to, he had things he would need - armour, weapons, Chasind eye coverings - and clothes. Ferox would learn how to cope with the form and its difficulties, its greater weight, its slowness, lack of flexibility. These could be overcome, just as the distance could be overcome and gained, granting him escape from Desire’s unrivaled temptation. The demon’s thrall in his head didn’t say anything until he was out of the city, heading west, but all it did was snort and ask him if he thought he could truly get very far on foot when there had been perfectly serviceable mounts in the stables. 

Ferox wasn’t stupid, there was no way he would trust himself to a demon-mount. 

Two days out, the light still did not bother his eyes, even though he still traveled at night as well. From time to time the deadman would comment, usually belittling his intelligence, which only drove him to walk faster, marching farther, only sleeping when it was that or collapse in the middle of the road. Strange way stations had been provided - he avoided them at first, but distance was what was needed, so when the Hunger demons eventually drove him, he relented, entering one of the stations when the voice told him that there were usually trail rations stored inside for those in need. If he just got far enough away, Desire’s hold on him would slacken, allowing him to finally escape. Once he was far enough away he could plan out his next step, but distance was the most important thing for now. 

A week out of Denerim, thunder rolled and vibrated beneath his head where it rested on nothing more than a bedroll. Jerking awake fully, Ferox listened intently. 

_That would be a rider, definitely several horses, but probably only one rider knowing how he is. Told ya you should’ve taken a mount._ As Ferox quickly tried to hide his tracks, he knew that the brusque explanation and forced politeness given by the thrall had only been because Desire had told it to help, _It won’t work. He can smell you. He can hear you. He can taste you. The only reason it took this long is because he felt you needed to get some air and movement without him ‘bothering’ you._

_I hate you._

_Oh the feeling’s mutual, I assure you, like I’ve said many times._

The sound got louder and louder, until Zevran - _Desire_ \- was there, a strange horse between his legs. Dark grey, almost black at the rump, with pale fingerprint spots molting it, its lines clean and strong like the elf’s, built for endurance and coiling strength. Several mounts, two lightly burdened with packs, a third with a saddle, all of them of similar breed, unlike the draft horses and Orlesian steeds he had known as a small boy, all untethered and following the demon’s will and direction. A flow of words from his mouth and the trio spread out, forming a sort of perimeter, the beasts far more intelligent than they should be - all the horses he had known, when alive and in the Fade had been stupid creatures, requiring constant orders and direction. These did not, almost like mabari, the very thought making him shudder where he sat on the ground. 

Gracefully it dismounted, but did not approach, “Did that help?” 

Help or harm? Good answer or bad answer? Bad choice or the good choice he would be pointed towards anyway? Sheep herded into the fold or out to pasture, thinking they were free until the gate closed behind them. The one chance he would have to escape wasted, for what? Never lost the creature in his mind - certainly he was quieter, but it was still there glowering at him. 

He growled, “No.” 

Desire turned its face aside, a hand on the opposite cheek of its steed, forehead pressing to the massive round joint of jaw, “I am sorry, _querido._ That was all the time I could allow, your brother will be in Denerim soon, it would not do for you to not be there. Politics are...precarious burdens. We ride in the afternoon, the horses need rest, as do I.” 

“My brother will not see me. I do not want to see any demon you have found to take his place.” Brittle, angry, words found and spit out like shards of ice, “Fergus has been clear on his feelings towards me. It has been made understandable.” No better way to reveal how you really feel, than by killing them. 

“Unfortunately this is a situation where I cannot bend to your desires, _amante_ ,” a deep breath was drawn, then saddles were left on, only two long canvas rolled packs were removed. 

Saddles left on Orlesian mounts, such a thing would be a sin, he remembered that much. But Desire did it without compunction to the graceful devils beside him, the animals were relaxed and not breathing heavily in the moonlight. Zevran-Desire-Partner-Lover-Demon worked quickly, setting up a sturdy round tent in a quarter hour at most. A last check of the horses and it turned to glance at him, head cocked to one side, arms crossed with a hand on its chin. 

“I would say it as a choice, but I know he will only drive you to it, countering the intent of the offer. So, instead I will say it this way - please come and rest, if you are not used to riding, tomorrow will be very uncomfortable. It is best to be rested enough to handle it,” with that Desire ducked beneath the loose flap, a bedroll under his arm. 

Feeling the shadow of the other across his mind, he followed after gathering his own pack and bedroll, “I don’t ride demons.” 

A laugh burst out, sudden and bright. Hand waving, “I am sorry, _amante_ , it is just - did I get an upgrade? Or a downgrade? So you no longer consider me a demon? You rode me rather well as my ass smarted for days, _querido._ Not that I minded one bit. But I am sorry, the statement is...amusing in light of your views. Obviously not being a virgin prior to leaving Denerim, and since you think _everyone_ is a demon, then that would mean you have ridden demons many times before. I believe such a statement is either considered paradoxical or oxymoronic. Though I will consider it paradoxical in your case.” 

_Rage is a demon._ He snapped, “Horses, Demon Horses. I  do not _ride_.” Being outside and receiving a lecture by the creature in his mind was beginning to look better. 

Desire reached out, not quite touching him, “Shh, I did not mean it unkindly, _amora_. Your body knows how to ride horses and the horses of my people are better than most. Ordza knows you and your form, she will be steady and help you. Riding is what will return us to the Vigil fast enough to take ship and beat Fergus to Denerim. No one will think anything of you having gone to the Vigil for a break as Warden Commander.” 

Clues had been laying all over the place, but he hadn’t considered it because it was all imaginary and keeping him from _his_ corner of the Fade. Words were pretend anyway - useless sounds that made little sense most days and deserve little attention. “Wait, you are running Ferelden and he is...what’s a Warden Commander?” 

“He has many titles, many roles he plays. We both do. He is King of Ferelden, he married Anora, got her with child twice - Len and Iona. The harpy died giving birth to Iona. The Landsmeet elected him Regent, no doubt because they knew we would run with the only Heirs to the throne if they did not elect him. The Landsmeet after that, he was elected King instead of simply Regent.” Desire was picking and choosing, clearly trying to use fewer words. “Hero of Ferelden, taking Loghain’s place, as Ferox ended the Blight, giving him control of the army. Prince Consort when he married Anora. Warden Commander when he took control of the Wardens of Ferelden. Regent. Monarch.” 

The other was a deadman too, if not by the Arch Demon, then earlier. And he was between the deadman and his demon, just as he supposed. And Prince Consort was certainly the same...it was good to know Anora could die and wasn’t actually a head demon herself. However, the knowledge still didn’t change his mind about not wanting to see any imaginary Fergus, or riding demon horses, or going back to the Palace just to be locked up and punished. Why give any illusion of freedom when the leash was already there in his mind? One he couldn’t seem to leave behind, not even able to leave it alongside the road. Give with one demon, take with the other and he didn’t want to be near either of them. 

_Liar._

Fingers reached across the space he had left between himself and Desire, touching his knuckles, “I love you, Ferox. And I missed you.” _’Both of you.’_

With that, Desire rolled over and settled down to sleep though he could tell it was not asleep yet. 

He didn’t want to be loved. 

_Another lie._

Fine, he certainly didn’t miss Desire. Why couldn’t they be left behind? Why bring him here and then tell him to leave? Even Desire said that he was not expected or exactly wanted here...back to the gift, the present from another demon. Flemeth, she probably had that kind of power, definitely did, if indeed she was not dead, but the Arch Demon seemed the most likely given the last action he took before arriving here. There was nothing on Fort Drakon that appeared unusual...well unusual for the Fade. These demons said that the Arch Demon here died years ago. Fourteen years, he thought was said. He knew that he was starting to buy into their story - bad, very bad. 

From where he lay he could smell Desire, but for whatever reason the voice wasn’t driving him closer. The other deadman did want to be closer, he could feel that, but it was holding itself separate, growling quietly in its corner. Taking the bull by the horns, _No threats?_

_No._

Matching the growl with a demand, _Why not?_

_Because it makes him work harder. Now shut up or I will push you to him._

Arguing made Desire work harder at something and whatever that was, made him tired? Holding the pain made him...it tired as well as it internalized the pain, taking it in and subjecting itself to the hot pokers. And it had held the blinding pain back from him even at the relatively vast distance. The only pain in his head now was from irritation and locking his jaw, keeping his snarling back by dint of will alone. _Why_ did Desire keep holding it back if it weakened him...it? Worse, was he starting to care? No, he only wanted to understand it, so he could use it to his own advantage, trying to convince himself that this was true. So why didn’t he just get up and walk away? 

_Because that I won’t let you do. Tracking you down makes him more tired than simply keeping you here. The only reason you got out of the Palace is because he argued to let you roam and that so long as you weren’t hurting people, unless defending yourself, to let you be. He is far more tolerant of your tantrums than I am._

A hand flailed out, touching his bedroll, “Both of you, please stop. Please. No more, I cannot take it. Your arguing and baiting are too loud.” 

Well that was interesting too. Who was Desire’s enemy...what was the opposite of Desire anyway? Apathy? Whatever, still betting on the Arch Demon, as it was the only really big nasty one he could see at the time. And it wasn’t like Oghren could send him anywhere, even for a demon he was slow and was fond of drink, or what he claimed was drink, something called Armpit Gin. 

_Was great at cleaning rust off of armour though._

_Didn’t think of that use._

_No problem, just don’t drink it._

He didn’t want to return to the Palace, didn’t want to see his so called brother, who wasn’t his brother at all, didn’t want to ride a demon horse, didn’t want to lie here - 

_Anything else you don’t want to do? I’ll check to see if it’s on the list._

_\- didn’t want to have ‘helpful’ demons in his head -_

_Anything you want to do?_

_No._

_You sure?_

_Yes._

_Liar, liar, pants on fire._

_Fine - go ‘home’._

That shut the demon up for a moment, but it was only a short respite, _Well then why are you staying still?_

_What?_

_Mph. His hand is right there._

_What? I mean - No!_

_You said you wanted to go ‘home’. He’s my home and he’s right there. Just ‘helping’ by pointing that out for you._

Folding his hands on his chest, he stared up at the roof of the odd ‘tent’ _No. But, I know you want to._ So much for sleep. 

Desire had not lied when it said that his form would know how to ride if he let it settle. The demon had dressed oddly in voluminous robes, a strange headwrap covering the blond head, another horse that had a coat that closely resembled the demon’s blond hair, shining with creamy gold and a bone white mane. His own mount was strange, silvered and black, the tack nothing like he had seen, with odd straps as though to hold the rider in place for battle. It was both comfortable and uncomfortable - he had no wish to trust the steed or the speed it moved at, yet had no choice, not even an offered illusion of one this time. 

_You know, you could just make him happy._

_Why would I do that? He might want to keep me._

_Oh there’s no chance of that - you don’t have what it takes to keep him interested for the long haul._

_I hate you._

_I hate you more. Get out of my head._

_If I did make him happy, you’d sit around and bitch at me all day and night._

_Actually, I wouldn’t, even if I get pissed that it’s you doing it and not me._

_I am never going to understand you two - opposites, in words and deeds._

_Well, I’m no ‘Apathy’, if that’s what you’re thinking._ As he watched, Desire pulled out a pair of the Chasind eye protectors and put them on, tucking the folds of the headwrap different, _He doesn’t think they’re funny by the way._

_What?_

_The eye protectors. They sell well in Antiva - kinda bright there. Look, if you make him happy, I won’t bug you. And he’ll have enough energy to expend on trying to get you the frell out of here, so things can go back to normal and I can see my children and play with them when I’m not busily slaving away at ruling this country. You won’t understand it, probably can’t, but the best part of my day is checking under their beds for monsters and tucking them in. You don’t get it, I know, I know - but it’s the frelling truth. Those stupid looking stick figure drawings? Those are like knowing I’ve done a good job and it’s the best reward. I’d appreciate it if you tucked it under my tunics with the other ones. Frell, and now I’m a Zevran note behind...I am going to have so much catching up to do when you finally leave._

The voice collected words and drawings? That was just odd. Although it did explain those boxes in the bottom of the wardrobe that didn’t make any sense, lists of tasks to do, supplies to order, rooms to have cleaned for visiting dignitaries... 

_Hey, he collects their socks. And knit caps. And toys. In his belt is his daughter’s first tooth after it fell out. The man collects every little thing. He has a dagger that is made up of bits of weapons that have broken off in him and I over the years - well any bits that got dug out._ There was a snicker, _That armour he wears when you spar? That’s from his adoptive father and his dead lover. And probably some other people of minor importance. And that saddle? When he dismounts next time, take a look at it. The saddlehorn is a face - someone insulted him and he gave them a chance to take it back. Well, that didn’t happen. Something to the effect that they would rather suck his cock for eternity than take back the ‘truth’. So he gave them their wish. If he gets really mad I’ve seen him call someone ‘boots’, ‘scabbard’ and ‘waterskin’. Next time one of them frelled up - guess what he had? Brand new boots, scabbard or waterskin... He likes trophies, says that they bring good luck._

This wasn’t just the Fade, it was a fucking madhouse in the Fade. 

_Better than his father - he eats, how did he put it? Something about eating the still beating hearts of his enemies after he rips it from their chest? I think he said it was a crowd pleaser for cage matches... However he did say that liver tasted better. I’ll just take his word on it..._

Each step towards whatever their destination was, received a poor reception, _No, no, no, no, no, no!_

_Actually when we go towards the Vigil it’s a ‘yes’. Going the other way, that’s a ‘no’ because that means vacation is over, kiddo._

A fucking madhouse and he was quickly becoming one of the inhabitants. 

It was so friendly, so sweet and logical and _helpful_ , and Ferox knew he was in for it. _You think that’s bad? He and Fergus are about to tell everyone I have fits. You think you’re locked up now? Wait until they lock you up for real in a coat that’ll give you a big hug and then you’ll be stuck with just me for company. Unless you stand up and play the part - it’s always been in your best interests, but nope, nope, you just have to keep pushing it. And he has done his best to constantly buffer and protect you from that choice, while doing everything else for you. Next you’ll be asking him to wipe your frelling ass for you. And how much has he asked of you? Not bloody much. And no, he hasn’t asked for your soul before you start in on that bullshit! Now you’ll find out how the game is really played amongst adults and you better make them all think you’re one, or you’ll get a nice little place with just me and I will sing and tell stories until you manage to leave my body. So act like you can grow hair on your chin and like your balls dropped and suck it up buttercup. And yes, I know, you hate me._

And Desire was too busy being blinded by the sunlight to keep the other deadman from lecturing him. Tearing off his head was not an option for getting away from the voice in it, tempting certainly, somehow doubtful that it would even help. He finally stopped responding, it was useless anyway, for the first while he was furious and fought so as not to be taken by a Rage Demon, for that in its unadulterated form was what this was deadman really was, he was **Wrath**. Or had become... That was an uncomfortable thought - that perhaps demons were born of deadmen that couldn’t reach the Golden City. Not that that was real anymore. Who was he kidding? After all, this was the closest place he had ever gotten to catching a glimpse of it and he saw it in a Desire Demon of all places. Simply put, he was cursed and rejected by the Maker. 

Come nightfall they continued to ride, the headdress removed, the eye coverings put away, as the moon rose. The eyes of the body he currently resided in weren’t as good at picking up details in the dark, but Desire and the horses had no problem apparently. By his reckoning midnight came and they reached one of those huts he had sought refuge in during rainstorms or for food, and they finally dismounted. His legs held up, but the sheer difficulty in forcing his body to settle into a method he wasn’t used to while refraining from ‘torturing’ the demon bred horse, left him ready to drop. 

Gruffly, growling, and barely withholding a snarl, “What can I do?” He would have done nearly anything to hear something other than the continuing diatribe off in his head...all fucking day long. 

Startled, Desire turned towards him, “I will pull the packs off - but if you could take them in and start a fire to make dinner, it would be greatly appreciated.” The first set of packs was handed to him, a brief touch of fingers against his and a worn smile, “Thank you, Ferox.” 

It was easy enough, and gave Wrath a chance to try out new and different subjects, like how the shelters were come up with, built, and operated. Which one of the local villages was responsible for restocking this one or if there was an inn, who ran that and what duties they had to the Crown, the Crown’s Post, which sounded like regular messengers, or other travelers. Wrath went on to explain that the shelters and inns were tied into a line of paths along the long coastline where the Coastal Guards - many of whom were Dalish - kept watch for invaders such as Qunari or even pirates that would raid and chip away at the protection if left to their own devices. The overall gist, was that if it was to be defended, he had to know how to _use_ his minions wisely, to not throw away tools unless they were broken, and in that way make his position stronger. 

_Just because there was one Qunari in Ferelden now they’re going to invade?_ as he stirred the pot of humble stew while Desire cared for their mounts. 

_There was a scouting band. Weren’t you paying attention? Sten and his group were scouting Ferelden. And if you had talked to him enough, you would have found out that, to them, the Llomerryn Accord was no more a deterrent to them than a fly on the wall. Not only that, but there was that group Ignacio sent you after. Think. Use your brain._

_The Qunari stayed in his cage. I didn’t deal with the backstabbers... I killed them._

There was a sigh, _I thought you were a rogue? Isn’t the main ability of a rogue to think fast on their feet? Plan and know how to manipulate others to their benefit? Everything is supposed to be a cost-effect equation._

_Yes. If they are stronger, then kill them. If they are weaker make them work for me or kill them. Both the Qunari and the Crows were in the too strong category._ Finding a bit of flour and an egg left in the food stash of the shack, he made a dough for some dumplings. 

Wrath spoke slowly, _If they are stronger, you can make them work for you if you play your cards right. If all your pieces are weak, then eventually someone or something will come along that is strong enough to plow through them and get to you. People are very easy to manipulate. Mostly they want any value that you give them. Trinkets, attention, bits of power or money. You do not have to give of yourself other than to pretend you find them interesting and prompt them and they will tell you many things. Their weaknesses, their strengths, and if you know what you’re doing, you can exploit that... Zevran was very easy. A pair of gloves, a pair of boots, listening to stories about his homeland and professional anecdotes and he ate out of my hand for eight years before I got tired of being alone._

Too much stirring and the dough would be tough - how did he know that? _You’re not very used to dealing with demons are you? Kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten._

_I’ve known just as many as you have. Everyone you know, I know. Frell, I know more people than you do. Just because you call them demons and I call them people, does not mean that we know different ones. The route you are on will get you eaten and you won’t have enough...minions...to throw before you. Cultivate them, watch them, make sure they are loyal to you and do not trigger disloyal action from them so they do not turn on you. It isn’t as hard as you think, if a stupid farmer like me can figure it out, so can you. Build up your position, make them think you value them, throw them at the enemies you can’t buy with things other than your ‘soul’. Another example, one that is right before you. Zevran gives thanks and does things for you, when all you did was ask if there was some way you could assist. More flies with honey. Offer something they want that costs you nothing and they will bend over backwards and even die for you. You can even use someone in a position of power over you this way - rule from the shadows._

So Desire wanted him for a minion. No surprise there. But it was refreshing to actually ‘hear’ it however, even secondhand. Spooning the dough into the boiling stew, he watched, not singing a timing song. Few things appeared to make Wrath happy and any subject he was engaged in became something to teach the uninitiated on, then become upset when the situation he knew in his corner of the Fade was different. He reminded himself that he was buying into this nightmare again and to stop replying to Wrath - it only riled it up more. 

Desire finally entered, disrobing down to just trews and unpacked the bedrolls, tossing one on each of the box beds, before collapsing into its own. It fell asleep and he left it until he had eaten, spooning up a portion he took to the demon, waking Desire with a touch. Gold eyes flew open, focusing quickly on him then the food. The first portion was consumed at an impossible rate, Desire tried to struggle upright to get seconds. Ferox just pushed it to sit and he brought a second helping, then a third. 

With a grateful sigh, falling back after he, it, was full, “Thank you, _querido._ ” 

Using whatever flavour was left in the pot, still trying to figure out where this knowledge was coming from, perhaps one of the demons were providing it, he set a porridge to cook overnight in the banked coals. Rinsing everything using water from the rain barrel outside, he did have to admit that the shacks would have been helpful during the dream of the journey back and forth over his corner. However, the little buildings would have made the entire trip far too easy. Anything easy or good was suspect. Death wasn’t supposed to be easy...or at least the punishment awarded at time of death wasn’t. If this story was even remotely true, it didn’t appear that it got any easier after killing the Arch Demon. That was good, he was concerned about being bored. The punishment would continue, something to look forward to then - if he ever got out of here. 

_There’s plenty of room on that bed you know,_ it came as he banked the coals one last time to make sure that the shack didn’t burn down around his ears - now that was a way he did _not_ want to suffer. 

With a shudder, he ignored Wrath, knowing what happened last time he was driven to taking a choice like that. He would rather not sleep, would rather be raged at, than be taunted by that golden vision. Unrolling the bedroll where it had been tossed, where Desire had wanted him to be placed, he prepared for another night without sleep, better that than seeing a glimpse of Home or anything gold. The anger was passing but the sinking that came after, it wasn’t pleasant either. Reviewing his options and choices, he wasn’t certain what to try next and any passive quiet thoughts were being commented and picked up on now too. Body gone, mind completely compromised, the situation wasn’t improving. So his answer to Desire had been the truth, no, running didn’t help. 

_Look, he is too tired and weak for either of us to jump him, or him to jump you. If you go over there you will sleep better, as will he, and you can continue to make him do things for you. If he gets too tired and broken he won’t be able to keep covering your ass._

He almost whimpered and pulled himself up hard. _You will not talk, or whatever this think-talking is, until we are on the road tomorrow . My terms, Wrath. Take it or not._

_He gets cold easily - so, it’s agreed._

Wondering why then the Crow would even bother coming to Ferelden where it was always cold, and then another reminder that this was all a nightmare anyway, he grabbed his bedding and crossed the room to find space next to Desire. He gets cold, he gets tired, apparently he gets hungry too...did back at the Palace too - he was always eating, some food item near to hand constantly, sometimes just a bag of nuts and dried fruit, but there was always something. Crawling in, he pulled the blanket up higher on Desire’s shoulder before laying on his side, his back to the demon. The expected touching came, the press of a spine against his, but there was nothing more, and he felt the muscles of Desire’s back loosen and heard the breathing go slightly deeper. In the silence he listened to the little noises of the fire, the wind in the pine trees, and the breathing next to him. 

_None of it is real. It is only the Fade._ Nothing had changed. And he couldn’t help the fact that the smell was comforting, that it eased him down to sleep, to dream within the nightmare. There was no talking, there were no voices as he continued to drift off, just the press at his back and the smell of foreign sunlight. _Where do I dream since I’m already in the Fade...?_ No answer came to his last thought or if it did, he was already asleep. 

The vessel’s cabin was modestly appointed and when he wasn’t at the prow, Ferox was in the cabin, keeping to himself. Other than Wrath and Desire. Wrath was always with him of course, so why he thought of it at all was pointless. Desire on the other hand gave him space, nearly too much. When next he saw the Demon entered the cabin he growled, “What have I done, or not done, now?” 

The puzzled expression morphed the etched features, “Done or not done? To cause what, _amora_?” 

“To make your creature hound me to find you. I am avoided. What did I do?” Ferox was frustrated at Wrath, who could be entertained on the bow of the ship but disliked the cabins unless a book was in his hands and he turned the page at regular intervals. 

“I was not avoiding you, not on purpose... You left Denerim, you required space...I have,” Desire sighed, sat down and made himself comfortable. “I have been erring on the side of caution, _amante._ You have already granted concessions in sleeping beside me and the charade in the Palace will not be comfortable for you. It was my thought that you would find me giving you some extra space to be preferable.” 

“You are preferable to reading to  him. His taste in books is awful,” setting aside the book on farming tools that he had no idea why anyone in their right mind would be interested in. “Tell me of the charade. I will bitch and moan about how I won’t do it. When we land, I will comply.” 

Shrugging, “Mostly you will not be bothered - no large gatherings or groups. Nothing to ‘trigger’ memories of the Blight and Amaranthine as that is the excuse I have been using - that stress had built up and caused you much grief by stirring up the memories of those years. In Antiva we call it ‘battle fatigue’.” 

_’And no doubt the harpy’s death on top of that,’_ interjected Wrath. 

A quick smile, “But of course, _querido_ , we should not leave such a horrid event as that out...a wife lost, a city under attack, a child nearly dead...” It faded just as quickly as it had arrived, “There are many who have gone through the Blight who suffer these bouts of mania and depression. You have been known to be temperamental at times, which is the sort of personality that has greater likelihood of having these episodes. They are not a great deal of danger in that they do not cause insanity or unsoundness, but that from time to time, they cause sleeplessness, irritability, extreme apathy. With help, they pass. We have to convince others that you are in a ‘passing’ stage. Fergus already knows some of what is going on, even if he did not, he would still voice his support along with his wife Alise’s family, there is also Teagan, and a handful of other nobles who would do so automatically. If Eamon were here he would cause problems.” Pausing, “But not for long, hmn? A meeting or two, a small display that you are still sound. In a few weeks, whether you are here or not, there is an Antivan delegation slotted for arrival. If you still remain here, greeting them formally would be in order. If you are not here, well, my husband will do that also. So, either way, just a few demonstrations. The walk to Fort Drakon was good, as was others seeing you going through the city, even if it was to leave. To them it means that their monarch is healthy and needed to ‘commune’ with his roots.” 

Wrath snorted. _’Well, I suppose it’s a good thing I forced you to take **one** day off in the last fourteen years, apparently it paid off.’_

The easy way between Wrath and the Desire indicated there was much time between them. Even if he conceded that Wrath was probably a deadman, these were the most difficult and tenacious demons he had ever dealt with - controlling him, swaying him, swamping him with strange emotions, nearly making him give everything, and worse by far, taunting him with a glimpse of the Golden City. If he was on better terms with the Maker, he would have told Him that this test was too difficult. But he knew that it wasn’t a test of any kind, it was a punishment and there was little hope for him, he must stand firm and clutch tightly to the only thing left him. 

Returning to Denerim, seen and be seen by taking a circuitous route through the city for the most exposure, they arrived back at the Palace. He changed and bathed and prepared to meet the first set of nobles that evening. Although he had agreed, what choice did he have, a bad choice or a good choice and he would be hounded or made to perform the good choice anyway. His evening was a ‘simple meet and greet’ said Desire. Dressed in fine clothes, a brilliant blue shirt and dark trews, he was ‘escorted’ to one of the more public rooms of the palace. For Ferox, for him, he played nicely that evening and Desire praised him and called him that strange ‘Q’ word that made Wrath seethe with jealousy. For several days he played a part, afterwards rewarded with a physical activity of a walk or spar, and always with the touch of the demon, some word he did not understand and a flicker of that light, sometimes even a taste of it, careful to not incite the riot. Each night was filled with the criticisms and instructions on how-to-do-things-better-if-only-you-would-listen or a litany of his crimes narrated by Wrath. 

Every morning he was less than he had been the day before. 

And then his ‘brother’ arrived. When Ferox saw him, although he repeated the internal chant of ‘Demon, demon, demon’ - which brought ridicule from Wrath - he found it difficult to to say the one word which had been given him, ‘Fergus’. Finally he managed ‘brother’. Thankfully he was allowed to leave that meeting sooner than most. Released for his activity, he knew that the demons were meeting to discuss him in the office. He wanted to know what his fate would be, but his taskmaster, Wrath drove him away from the ‘family wing’ of the palace by starting to sing. 

Later in the privacy of his room - Wrath’s room - he shook at a plucked memory of the forbidden taste and was directed to return to Desire’s side. He wanted to, he wanted that flavour, that warmth and heat, and could not say no. First to the door, then driven to the bed, then waking with the demon pressed against him, the snarling goading instructions into taking what Wrath wanted - it was akin to breaking into the Golden City and how he was able to rise, to get away, leaving the room to dress for the day was anyone’s guess. In the room alone except for the raging demon in his mind, Ferox began to shake and the demon gave him memory after memory of what he could not have. Perhaps the creature was only trying to relieve his own frustrations of having been denied access to its demon, Ferox did not know. His body trembled and shook with the assault of an entire set of recollections of a wonderful City that was pure perfection, holding good things and people that were not his own, could never be his own. 

Why he was left alone for so long he didn’t know until much later. Hours upon hours went by and Wrath, finally having exhausted himself, had wandered away or was quiet, it was difficult to tell which and Ferox woke broken, exhausted, sweaty, and spent from the unwanted emotions thrust upon him. His cheek was pressed into the thick pile of the rug in front of the unlit hearth and Desire was squatting next to him, his arms relaxed, resting on his thigh. What could he give to the demon? There was only one thing a demon wanted and Ferox knew he was cracking, knew that pieces of him had been chipped away, whether it was purposeful reshaping, just natural weathering, or a combination, he couldn’t know as it was beyond a human’s understanding - dead or alive. 

“There is someone I would like you to meet, _querido_.” Desire was happy and sunlight shone down on him, blinding him with the light joy, the soft touch of a hand over his cheek. “It will not be bad, I promise.” 

Dragging his arm from his side, he rested a hand on the demon’s boot. He was so close to giving in, to opening his hand if it would guarantee him peace from Wrath and to be wrapped in Desire’s constant touch. Pushing himself to his knees, Ferox continued to sit in Desire’s pool of light. He would worship at this one’s feet, only, ever, always belonging to Desire, with no Wrath to hound his steps. The demon, his smiling eyes knowing his every pathetic thought, reached out a bronzed hand to stroke his face once more, tenderly. Eyes closing, he leaned into the touch, _Ask and I will give it, please let me give it._

A kiss was pressed to his forehead, “Wash up, _querido_ , I will be in the office with my Zama, come and join us when you are finished.” The demon rose and left him to the task after taking or granting another of those kisses, perhaps if he washed quickly enough he would be granted a chance to give up his meagre belongings - he could only hope that it would be so. 

Wrath had told him of the Zama, of how she was Desire’s mother. She must be a powerful demon to have made one as magnificent as Desire was. Was his soul only made ready to be given so that he could be presented to the Zama Demon? Pouring the cold water from the pitcher into the basin, he stripped off his clothes and washed the stink from him. The blue markings on this flesh still fascinated him, still unable to determine if they were a spell or not, it was likely, just like the beautiful ceilings. He washed and readied his flesh to be given, just as his mind had been made ready. It didn’t matter if these were his last moments, he would beg only to be filled with light at the end. Anything, everything would be given for this to be over, not another step, not another lie, not another (un)death - only his own - while bathed in overpowering light, in exchange for a minuscule sliver of soul of very little worth. 

Clean, dressed, hair neatly braided, he entered the office prepared to be sacrificed, going to the end of his punishment gladly. If the Maker would not have him, he would take another glimpse at the Golden City this way. He saw the Zama as soon as he entered, she was magnificent, her long twisted locks of red hair, the charms, markings, those eyes...her entire being glowing, just like her child, Desire. She called him by name and his knees nearly buckled as he crossed the room to kneel by her side. She knew everything about him. Would she find him ready, ready to give everything? Her words were lost on him, surrounding him, supporting him, she felt in his mind, moving through him, memorizing him. Lightly touching a spider’s silk thread within him, she ran a mental finger down it to hear an answering hum. 

Was there anything he wanted, asked a voice reaching through the scree which had tumbled down to bury him. Ferox nodded and looked to Desire who came closer. “What is it, _querido_?” Pulling the demon closer, Ferox took the one thing he wanted for all eternity - a long slow tasting of sunlight flavoured kiss and opened his hand to release the tiny sliver of the only thing he had left. As he tipped his hand to give the precious coin, the thread was plucked in his mind. The sunlight washed him, hotter, burning him, shedding its light into every corner of his heart, mind, and soul. 

As his essence caught flame in the intense heat, still wrapped in the arms of Desire, tasting every minute flavour of him, Ferox whispered, _I love you,_ before he exploded outwards and shattered into a thousand insignificant sparkling shards, barely hearing the answering call, but it was enough... 


	2. Reich mir die Hand

And so one of the stories told at the Blooming Rose in Kirkwall, was that when Ferox Algere Cousland, the Hero of Ferelden awakened from killing the Archdemon, he was reborn in his own corner of Thedas with a howl just like all newborn babes. It was said that he returned a broken man, and for a time he was shattered glass on a polished marble floor, the first words uttered as a scream was to be taken back, to go to the forbidden home. Everyone believed he must have seen the Golden City, as never before had a Warden survived when an Archdemon was slain, none knowing the reason, and no matter that Loghain had struck the final blow. Ferox Cousland had been close, chest partially crushed from the fight, none had thought he would survive. So none thought it strange that he had seen the Maker’s City, or that he had raved, wishing to return. Screams about a soul and the cost, a promise that he would hand these items over if only he could return - these had echoed for days after his eyes opened. The Blight Companions had been slain nearly to a man. Wynne, Leliana, Sten, Morrigan, Alistair, Shayle. Oghren was the sole survivor and there was no mention of a mabari hound. 

It was the worst tale to come out of Kirkwall yet and had to belong to the one he was interested in. He instructed the informants to continue their search and to follow the stories of this Ferox.

Letters were sent to tell that the man had been made Prince Consort and that soon after the first year of marriage, that Queen Anora had become pregnant, a remarkable thing as Wardens were not known to have children, yet it was soon enough after the Joining that perhaps time had been purchased, as he had not had long to stew in the Taint. The Prince was also the Warden Commander of Ferelden, and when the trouble began in Amaranthine, he left his wife behind in Denerim to resolve the troubles with darkspawn, yet again. While he was away, two children were born and the Queen’s life was lost in the difficult birthing. Returning to Denerim during the lull of winter, the Warden found a boy as dark as himself and a girl who was fair and golden haired. It was said that the Prince’s face turned dark as he named them and made arrangements to have them immediately placed in the care and custody of his estranged brother and his wife, who had recently given birth to their first child. Placing the children in the care of a nursemaid and a young lady who seemed to know a thing or two about children, having two of her own, the Commander returned to the Vigil to finish what he had started, even as the Landsmeet declared him not just Regent, but King.

The Architect and the Mother were killed, Justice dead, Velana rejected, Anders, and Nathaniel, Sigrun, and Oghren alive and well. Nathaniel was named as the Warden Commander’s Second and the monarch returned to the palace where he fell into despair between bouts of frozen anger. It was said that he had never been a stable man, and since his waking from the Archdemon’s blast that he had been muttering words about Desire and a ‘deadman’ named ‘Wrath’. 

The tale became even more interesting when it was learned that an Anders had come from that story to Kirkwall and began taking shifts at the Clinic in Darktown. A few months later, just as they usually do, Nathaniel came, having been sent by the Warden Commander to look for the mage and return him to Ferelden. Knowing the delay that would occur, one that always occurred to stall the return of the various Nathaniels in Kirkwall, he made the necessary arrangements to travel to Kirkwall himself, because this Warden Commander would not brook such delays, nor allow his mage to vanish into the bowels of Darktown. It was arranged that when the Warden King arrived that he would be taken to the Ferelden Embassy in Kirkwall and made welcome. Certainly, the Embassy belonged to another, but those negotiations were child’s play. The King was suspicious, but did not argue overly much after noting the odd duplications that occur in the place where many stories meet. Many Anders, Nathaniels, Wardens, Alistairs, and Hawkes in one location slipping between layers to visit others. 

When he observed the man, a thin boy in all actuality, the young Commander was intent on tracking down his Wardens and had just returned to the Embassy after negotiations with the Viscount and discussions with Aveline Vallen, the Captain of Kirkwall’s City Guard. He knew the moment that the soul-battered ruler saw him, because the boy took a step backwards, the urge to flee painted across his body, even as a hand reached for the hilt of his weapons. He looked so blastedly young, so beautiful even with that discomfort - terror even - on his features. Stark though they were, familiar features he hadn’t _seen_ outside the realm of memory and thought in so long...

Uncrossing his legs in a chair that had been a favourite of a different Ferox, Zevran leaned forward, “Kirkwall is a funny place, is it not, _amora_?” Remembering what his counterpart had said, “You were not forsaken, _querido_ , he did not know why you were brought to him without warning, only that you did not belong in his realm. But he watched for you, as have I. It would be him here if he did not have other responsibilities...” A sigh worked itself free of his lungs, “He did not stop caring for you or worrying about you, and from what I have seen and heard, I can understand why.”

Although a hand withdrew from its weapon, it was not out of comfort, quite the opposite as it went to the left temple to press fingers firmly against it. “Where’s Wrath?” the snarled question loaded with fear and dread.

“Wrath?” Zevran felt his face twisting with confusion.

 _’He probably means me, Love,’_ the comforting whisper in his mind easing a hint of the anguish at seeing such a broken version before him. _’Or the other me. Gaeaf. The little healer always said he was ‘cranky’.’_

“Do you mean my husband? He is here,” tapping the side of his temple and then over his heart. “His body decayed and died, but he cheated a body’s frailty by entering me. We share my body. The most notable ‘negative’ side effect is his response to an elven libido and occasionally not liking blue peppers.”

It was clear that most of the information was labeled unimportant and was quickly discarded or set aside if there was something interesting. His own had been this way, not seeming to hear most of what was said, but in sorting it he would bring it out later. Sometimes it could be such a pain in the ass, as ideas and concepts were puzzled over for longer, but the concepts were usually grasped in the end or put back together in odd combinations. His own Ferox was not used to looking at the holistic as well as microcosm of life and society, but had gradually gained the skill. This one had no such guidance and exposure.

“You keep him over there,” the snarl could have come straight from the throat of a hostile mabari. “I’ve heard more than enough from that deadman.” Ferox hadn’t moved from the spot he had stepped to, no longer startled, but his hackles were still raised.

Raising a brow, “Of course - it is where I _prefer_ him. A few decades of having one’s mate in one’s own head breeds a comforting familiarity. However, he has never spoken to you. The Zevran and Ferox you knew is not myself, nor my husband. We are a different pair. To make things easier, we had a system - the one you call ‘Wrath’ we called ‘Gaeaf’. Winter. Mine was ‘Twadd’ - melted. You...had no name. To say that we were excited when we were told that there was another Ferox, is an understatement. However - upon hearing some of your...” Zevran ignored the things his husband was saying, which weren’t very nice, he picked a different word. “Difficulties... Twadd was ‘displeased’. The concept of killing everyone offends him, which I can readily understand.”

 _’You mean the part where he left you dead and in a ditch?’_ The normally peaceful and humour filled voice in his mind contained its own growl of disapproval. _’Rifled through your pockets looking for loose change?’_

 _’Hush, he is a damaged boy, you can see it from here.’_ Reasoning quickly with him, _’If I had been put off just because you were difficult, where would you be? Dead atop Fort Drakon? Or perhaps married to Anora and still dead after a dreary life? No, no - you deserved effort, so does he.’_

Standing slowly, “There are a few things that need to be done before we can leave. Your signature on a piece of paper so that I may double-check it. Your seal also - it should be the same, but I would rather not risk leaving a messy trail.” Feeling the desire to run through the large window to the courtyard two stories below, Zevran gently isolated it, quietly dulling it for the moment to keep the very damaged Ferox from doing harm to himself. “This time you will not be sent away or left alone, _querido._ I am not the exact man you knew, similar, yes, duplicate - certainly, but we went different paths. Once we may have been the same man, just as you may have been the same as Gaeaf and Twadd. Same but not same. You will not be forsaken or abandoned. Not on my watch.”

The expected denial and rejection was said in its customary growl, a sound which never left this Ferox’s voice, “Demon, I have business in Kirkwall. It does not concern you.” The need to flee, to put more space between them, repressed even as it was combined with a desire to step closer, caused minute tremors to shake the young man’s form. “I will not go anywhere with you.” It was obvious that although he had observed duplicates of others in Kirkwall, Ferox did not believe that ‘Desire’ was a duplication.

“That business is concluded and taken care of, _amora_. It is finished,” his own tone firm, knowing that the only way to be at this time was the iron hand with no velvet glove. “Anders and Nathaniel will return to Ferelden. I have already spoken with Anders who has become Justified. He, or more accurately _they_ , will rally the mages, while Howe takes charge of the defenses of Ferelden. Sigrun is to be the new Warden Commander and your brother Fergus, Regent until your children reach their majorities and it is decided which will rule Ferelden. In this, you have no choice, and I will not pretend to offer you one. Fight as much as you desire, in this, it is meaningless. You are needed elsewhere and will be far more useful there. I do not have the leeway to grant you choice at this time, when I do, you will have it.”

“I have already lived within your confines, dictates, and so called choices once, Demon, I will not do it again.” It was more than just the compulsion to leave that shook him as it was joined by the blistering flash of anger before it cooled to an impossible temperature, all of it broadcast plainly as if Ferox had shouted it. “Other tasks are incomplete. I will not be your plaything. I will not entertain you, I will not be told one thing and forced to do another.”

Reaching up to the hand at the left temple, Zevran pried it away so he could touch the area, feeling the agony housed there. “Then why did you scream to be taken back? Why come to Kirkwall when you _knew_ this place is what it is? No, _amora_ , protest if you must, but you lie and we both know it. That alone is the reason we have kept watchers. You could not be left to think yourself unwanted, unworthy, unloved. Not when you had found you actually wished for those things. I am not sorry that I have found you. Sorry that it was not him, who you knew, yes, I apologize for that. And for the fact that your intentions are going to be ignored.” 

Hiding how much it hurt to take in the pain, his years as a Crow allowing him to do it unflinching and without reaction, Zevran removed as much of it as he could while not blunting his own faculties. The undeveloped and rudimentary mental flailing against him, protesting at the taking of ‘something that was his’, was easily turned aside. This Warden had not been trained to use his abilities, which was a good thing, the knowledge likely withheld for others’ safety as well as his own. Rolling his thumb over the winged eyebrow, he vowed that other things would be given and gained for the lost and broken boy - purpose, safety, choice, love, home. But those things would have to wait for a time.

“Your cry was not unheard or ignored, _querido._ It just took time to reach and find you.” Ignoring the tensing muscles, the tremble that sought to resist, he pulled him down enough to taste his mouth, he had been without it for so long. Murmuring as he withdrew, “Your sun has found you.”

Desperate notes, “No. No. No.” If the shaking had been bad before, it was worse now, body straining forward and away at the same time as if he might snap. “Not another nightmare. Not more punishment. No more... I named the demon children as I was told. I sent those small creatures to safety, _because Wrath said I was not good enough to be trusted with them_. Len will never drink poison, Iona will not scream in the night for me. I built _everything_ the way Wrath commanded. I learned how to use them, I learned how to shape them to my will. To guard against all comers. I did nearly everything that could be done.” Any other Ferox would have shouted or wept, this one stood his ground and just shook while pieces of him cracked and fell into a great chasm, shattering on the wreckage of debris below.

Ignoring the struggle and the warning of his own Ferox, Zevran quickly gathered him close, taking them both gently to the floor, cradling him, “Shhh... You did well, Ferox. Your task there is finished. It is time for you to come home. It is ready and has been waiting for you.” Later, when Ferox slept, he would search through the memories, but for now, it was more important to keep him tractable and whole enough to put his feet on the path. “You did very well, you did good. You learned perfectly. It is time for the reward, to come home, to find peace.”

Again the verbal rejection and refusal, even as the shaking body did not fight the comfort it was given, “Don’t lie, Demon. Deadmen don’t go Home. It is forbidden. There is no Golden City. No rewards. Nothing good - only threats and punishment.”

“I am not lying, _amora_ ,” pouring the same firm, unyielding conviction into the statement as he had about not allowing Ferox to return to that Ferelden. “You are coming with me so that you will find peace. You will learn and you will believe. There are many good things. Many. To me, you are one of those good things. One of the best things.”

In his mind, Twadd shifted uncomfortably, _’He’s beyond damaged, Love. He will hurt you just as a rabid dog will bite its owner.’_

_’Yes, yes he will, as have you in times past. That does not change my mind. He will not be forsaken and abandoned. We have had this discussion many times. We had agreed upon this course of action. It will be done.’_

_’ You agreed as soon as it was announced that there was duplicate.’_ A laugh and a shared thought that Zevran would adopt anything if it were only named ‘Ferox’. _’I did agree and said I would help, but that was before seeing how broken he is. This is worse than was shown.’_

Rocking the lean form in his arms as it shuddered, choking on too much, as if the very air was being sucked from the room, _’He thinks he was kicked out of what he believes was the Golden City, thinking that he was not good enough. He has had years, **amora** , to stew in that belief. Of course he is worse!’_ Smoothing the dark hair free, _’He is young still, we have time. Five, six years at most in the Taint. We must have him seen to immediately upon arrival in Antiva.’_ Kissing the clammy brow, revelling in its scent, _’You heard what was said. The ravings for having been rejected by the Maker. That it was punishment for killing the messenger and guide to the Golden City. That he had blackened it. So we will give him a new ‘Golden City’, a new ‘messenger’. He will never be quite right, but he can be given something for all he has been through.’_ Closing his eyes, Zevran reached in, finding the paths to breathing and calmed it, easing the hyperventilation. _’He does not deserve to be treated as an animal. We would not have been told of him if there was no way to help.’_

_’I will point out that the little healer is not here to greet him as she was here for each of us. One could suppose from her absence and lack of healing of this one that she does not approve of this path.’_

Growling, _’She can disapprove as she wills. If it was a Zevran in this place do you think for one second she would do any differently? Oh, I assure you, she would be here so fast no matter how dangerous the Zevran was, even if to just put him out of his misery. Even she is capable of hypocrisy.’_

 _’Peace, Love, it is also possible that our own duplicates keep her away. Having already met this creature and knowing what danger he presents, they may have kept him secret. You, yourself are capable of doing the same. You know that her skills are certainly no match for Haf’cath or even yours.’_ Reassurance came from the one in his mind that he would not be alone in tackling the burden that had been willingly shouldered.

Sighing, he knew it was true, instead focusing on the lanky Ferox in his arms who continued his litany of ‘Deadmen can’t go home. It is forbidden.’ _’You are correct... Perhaps in time when he eases, it may be possible for them to meet. I know that Haf’cath would rest easier seeing some progress...’_

Ducking his face enough to find the chanting mouth he quieted it with another kiss, going around the meager defenses, pouring soothing and security into it to shore up the crumbling banks and keep the ruin from collapsing in on itself, no matter if the vain attempts to reject it were made, _’A new home can always be found and gone to. I have waited a long time for you, **querido** and you have waited a long time to be found. We must go now.’_

The boy obviously knew that he was already caught in a trap and made no move to fight physically, having already been shown years ago how useless that was. However ‘giving up’ did not extend to his recalcitrant speech. Snarling and snapping, “I don’t want to go, not again. I helped last time. Wasn’t it enough? Why aren’t you finished with me?”

Stroking his jaw, the pain in his head more than just the agony he had taken in, but the sheer control at holding his own anguish in check, “No, last time as I understand it, you were actually a bit of a difficulty. Your presence threw things into temporary chaos and served no purpose. At the end, you did help to right and control the situation, to keep it from deteriorating. _Now_ I have a place for you, one that you can make your own. One where you are welcome, wanted, and needed.” Hoisting them both back to their feet, “Your belongings are already packed, I will just have to hope that the signature and seal are close enough for our purposes. We go.”

....

He knew that the ship was uncomfortable, could feel the urge to dive over the side in armour - sink or swim. Zevran held a tight rein on the actions but not the thoughts. Limiting the amount of invasion to the delicate mind was paramount beyond keeping him from doing harm to himself or others. Anger was already present. It would be followed by denial and inaction. Likely bargaining, then a fatalistic depression would be next. But it was the last stage that Zevran aimed for - true acceptance. Time it would take, but it was time he had volunteered to spend, time he wished to spend. 

Of course Ferox’s presence would be an actual boon - politically and militarily - Zevran wasn’t fool enough to not count that as good reasons to bring him there, even damaged. A returned or revived Hero of Ferelden, Ender of the Fifth Blight - he would serve as a rallying point. And it would be a good chance to direct the rage. Those who lived yet, would know that this was a true Ferox, but not the one native to the place. The Chantry would have something to say, but their arguments would be invalid - a reborn Hero, taken from the Fade would be considered a saint and saviour by the common Andrastian, from across Thedas, forcing the Chantry to adopt that stance as well. 

It would suffice.

As it had been previously, it began again, only modified by what seemed to be learned the first time. No physical harm was offered or threatened to himself or others, although that didn’t stop Ferox’s attempts to take his own life. The memories that were shared by his twin, indicated that suicide was also removed as an option, as this creature was occupying the body of Gaeaf and any harm done to one, would affect the other. The bitter rage was certainly in attendance in all conversations, the words few and plainly dressed for the most part. The growling, snapping, and snarling background ever present as well, but Zevran met it with steadiness and calm, firm as he knew it was one of the few things the rogue would understand.

One evening, after a particularly hard day, the warm voice in his mind commented, _’I’m certain that one could translate mabari, as he speaks it fluently. But I was unaware that the hounds actually cursed.’_

He couldn’t help but laugh, the sound startling to the other as they ate, _’Yes, an entire book transcribing it. A pure linguistic study to put name to and increase the Algere fame?’_ Reaching across he lay a hand atop the one on the table, “It is nothing, just an amusing comment. What do you think of mabari, _querido_? We have a large kennel and breeding program, straight from some of the finest stock of Ferelden. Of course due to the war, there are many groups who are soldiers in their own right. Wounded ones no longer fit to fight retire to Antiva whenever it is possible...”

As the fork was set down, the skeptical expression given to his hand indicated that anything ‘Wrath’ said couldn’t be good, funny, or complementary. “As I have said previously,” obviously still refusing to accept the separation of himself and Haf’cath, “I don’t ride demon horses. Why would I trust demon dogs?”

Stroking between the knuckles, unable to stop himself from the casual touch, “Because they would guard you with their lives. They can, and would be willing to serve you. If you were willing to use others to your advantage, then an animal that requires even less than a person, would be the most logical thing.” He didn’t like feeding into that line of thought, but for now, until Ferox was more comfortable, that was what would be the most useful. “They require feeding, cleaning, a few positive words here and there, and they will work themselves to nothing serving you, dragging themselves half-dead through any obstacle to serve their assigned purpose. They can, and will, give their all, beyond what was asked of them, breaking barriers of what is physically possible, just to please you, until there is nothing left to give and they die. They give without demand, love without cause, serve unto their last breath and their bodies give out on them. That goes for the horses of my people as well as mabari.”

Returning to scooping up some hummus on naan, “The reason I asked is because Twadd pointed out that you ‘spoke’ mabari - a reference to the growling. I thought it was funny, that is all.” Not looking at him as he focused on their meal, “The healer calls me ‘Efell’ which means ‘twin’, as Haf’cath - the summer cat, the one you visited - and I are nearly identical. Though my life has been happier than his. As was Twadd’s versus Gaeaf’s - Wrath as you call him.” Thinking for a moment, “She would likely call you Cyni, for ‘Anguish’, as that is very much what you have been through. However that is a thing that you will no longer have to go through, not if I have any say. Difficulty, yes, as we all must deal with adversity, and it would be a lie to say that your transition and healing will be easy, so it is not a lie that will be said.”

Picking the utensil back up, the response of, “Hrm,” was non-confrontational, better than most that were given, but the sorting out of useful information and trash was without question going on behind those eyes. Eyes which, either out of habit or in response to what headache was left remaining behind them, still slid off of faces and sources of light.

Clearing his throat, “Twadd is not the same as Gaeaf, he would not be unpleasant towards you. Not the least of which because you would not be inhabiting his body. Gaeaf was...is still, even though his body is no more, a very possessive and private person. Twadd is much more open. If you are ever curious, you could easily speak to him. Of course we are both aware that it will take you time before you feel that way.” Reaching across the small table again, drawn to the action, his fingertips quickly ran over the nearest temple, “He will not invade you or seek to take your body.”

_’Unless he tries to hurt you. You think Gaeaf’s possessive? Like Light, I won’t bark first.’_

_’Shh, none of that. I know you are, but you know what I mean. Simple words for the child, **querido** , words he can understand.’_ Pouring a cup of coffee for Ferox, sweetening and adding milk, he pressed it closer to the hands which were dealing with food. _’He no doubt has already supplied all the threats of what will be done to him if he is ‘bad’ without you ‘helping’ him.’_

 _’True. That one’s not shy about how he feels, nor is he restrained by much other than his Cat. Anyway, I’m not one to throw out threats, but it won’t prevent me from acting if need be.’_ Noting the thinness of the one before them, _’Maker, has he been starving himself?’_

 _’Likely...then again, it is not as though I am eating slowly,’_ making a face at how hungry he was. Zevran was aware that using the Taint based abilities could be draining when it was for more than simple conversation, he had experienced it with Antiva’s Wardens often enough, but he had never sought to take it to the level he was at currently. Not for what promised to be a very extended period of time. _’That is the first thing that will have to be fixed. Though without Zama or Duls, I do not know anyone personally who is that strong. Strong enough to push the Taint back? Oh yes, but this is...old damage. Very old. It will take finesse and delicacy. And even if the physical damage is healed, his mind may demand phantom pain in its stead until he can accept that it is no longer ‘necessary’.’_

A mental shake of the head, _’Zevran, by the time he’s ‘healed’ as much as he can be, the Calling will be upon him.’_

 _’And then you will have more company,’_ stated mildly as he added more to Ferox’s plate. _’For a few years...perhaps forty? Then it will be time for us to pass on.’_

 _’You could last longer. Why give up?’_ There was no judgment given or disappointment, curiosity at the decision, certainly.

Containing the sigh, _’Possibly... I do not know. No elf of the Arlathanlen has sought to go until they drop. But I am only a half-breed, one exposed repeatedly to Taint. Just because Nune is going strong at forty-seven decades does not mean I will have that long. I am just trying to be realistic. Sixty years from now, that is a lifetime for very many people, elves included. I will not count on more than that. Honestly I do not count on more than the next ten minutes. That way I will not be disappointed if something happens.’_

_’Ah, Love, one more minute with you is one I didn’t previously have. I was just expecting that you would receive some work or assignment that would continue to keep you entertained.’_

Unable to stop a chuckle, _’Well I could always become a whore, that might be amusing for a year or three. A nice vacation - though the only issue with that is one does not get to choose their customers... Not that I ever got to choose my targets... Some of them were rather...unfortunate looking. And smelling.’_

 _’That is not what I meant,’_ the mock indigence could not hide the laughter underneath. _’I was going to say that one so interested in her Zevrans seems to keep them entertained, I mean, did you see that last one? ‘Course you did, your eyes after all.’_ Not expecting an answer, _’How many of you are there? No doubt she can find something for each of you.’_

_’Hmn, he does always look rather refreshed. However, I have had constant upkeep, so it was interesting to see him at the same level even if he is older...’_

Returning to seriousness, _’Love, you know my mind on the matter. When you are done, you are done. I am yours and this borrowed time with you is like finding bonus cranberries in my oatmeal raisins cookie with some chocolate bits added in.’_

 _’Ah, if she had her way, she would have a veritable harem... Then again, Haf’cath is rather handsome... Is it incest to think that? Or just very narcissistic?’_ his amusement knew no bounds, as he and Haf’cath had ‘frolicked’ aplenty, with and without Dulsanaya, and in varying combinations with their Feroxes adding their spirit touches to the encounters.

 _’I wouldn’t say no to that again and I doubt Gaeaf would either, especially with all of that sunlight thrown in... Maker...that makes my brain hurt. Next trip, it can’t hurt to ask, or if it does that could be pleasant to have that again,’_ rumbling warmly. 

“You’re quieter than last time, Demon,” the statement was ground out, the additional helping on his plate ignored.

Having settled in to taste the large flan before him, he raised a brow, “I am plenty talkative, _querido._ Haf’cath was a singular entity at that point, now he and I both are dualities. But since my head holds more than one mind, I am able to carry on conversations without inundating you with words or pestering you. If you like we could talk, but that is one of the things that is under your control. Other than information and occasional discussion, I was not going to bother you. As I said, further discussion beyond what is necessary is up to you.”

Reaching out for the first time since they met, Ferox used his fork to sample a narrow edge of flan to taste. Not a touch, but some movement, much like the question posed as observation, yet it was _something_. Whether it could be trusted or not would be seen, for now, Zevran only smiled and pressed the plate closer to the center of their table. 

Looking closer at what was likely unfamiliar, “Custard?”

“It is similar, yes. This one has coffee and cheese in it,” making sure that he did not stare or watch too intently, even if the reactions of others to new things had always fascinated him. “Well, it is a type of custard. Antivans like theirs smooth and dense unlike the Orlesian habit.”

A slight nod. “I wouldn’t know,” and took another small bite. “Why does it matter what I think of mabari?”

“Because there are ones descended from the first mabari Twadd had. The oldest will recognize the similarities of scent as some of Twadd’s things still bear it and in his last years she kept him company. He hand fed her as a puppy because she was the runt of the litter... She will be excited and wish to show off for you,” explaining as best he could. “Gwyr - it means squirrel, because she loves to chase them, even as old as she is - but she is very calm and docile. But do not be surprised if she tries to drag puppies near you to see if you will allow one to Imprint. However, I will explain to her to not be pushy, even if she does think that everyone good should have a stalwart hound by their side to protect and love them.”

The brown eyes flicked up at the word ‘good’ before sliding away again, “Then there will be no trouble with puppies.” 

“Gwyr loved to lay near his foot beside the stool, she does it to this day to me. If she crowds you, you can ask her to not bother you and she will obey,” aware that the hound likely would be frolicking for joy as soon as she caught Ferox’s scent, hoping to be close to her one time companion, even as he ignored Ferox’s negativity. “However her company is quiet and mellow, so perhaps it might not bother you.” Changing the subject as he noted the third bite of dessert, “Do you like the flan?”

A tightly held shoulder twitched, for anyone else it might have been a shrug, “Yes.” After a moment, information was cautiously volunteered, “Wardens shouldn’t be allowed to cook.”

“With Alistair at the top of the list, a bold red strike through his name, certainly. Oghren was not so bad if one made sure flame and meat were involved. And Howe spent enough time in the Marches to pick up satisfactory skills,” he agreed, his heart seeking to leap at the comment, but he squashed that reaction and set it aside. Instead he maintained the same, steady, easy manner, not pushing. “It very much depends. Rogues make the better cooks I have found. Nimble hands, nimble mind - these things assist.”

 _’I’m wounded - I thought you liked my cooking?’_ teasing.

_’Your cooking, yes, and it improved vastly once better ingredients were on hand...’_

“Perhaps,” purposely taking another bite. “Nathaniel doesn't make dessert, they’re -” savouring the flavour as his forehead furrowed, searching for the word “ - unnecessary.”

Letting his smile turn rueful, “It is a good thing that I am not a Warden - no fear of us running out of food. Being Grandmaster has certain difficulties and unless I am completely assured of the loyalty of my servants, I cook my own meals.” 

Again the gaze met his for a moment and a pained expression crossed Ferox’s face, “Most wise of you, Demon.” 

Of course, what little had been given had to be offset, this time by the use of the title. Yet he had heard worse, in some ways even worse from his own Ferox. Zevran reminded himself that this was the world and perception that the young man before him had existed in for a very long time. It was not a truly personal attack or insult, it was born of pain and ignorance. Nothing more.

“Thank you, I do try,” as he allowed the flash of hurt - this was not his own, who would not say such a thing - to slide past, with good humour. Clearing his throat, “Do you have any questions for me? Rather than flood you with information, it would likely be better if you simply asked me things and I answered.”

With the wariness of a caged animal searching for where the next attack would come from, Ferox appeared to consider before asking what seemed to have long weighed on his mind, “What does a Desire Demon want with me? Once may be a mistake or error in judgement - twice is with purpose.”

An amused chuckle in his mind, _’At least he knows it when he sees one.’_

Taking a sip of his own coffee, Zevran thought it over. “Not to sidestep or be difficult, there are two answers, _amora._ The personal one for my wishes or the one in terms of practicalities - which would you care to hear? Or would you care for both?” 

“The practical first, it would be good to know where my skills will be applied.” Intentionally Ferox set down the fork down even though there was flan remaining on the plate. It seemed to be a test of will, to walk away when something was still wanted.

“Then first I must inform you of what has been happening, so that you have context.” Ordering his thoughts quickly, “After the Blight, we left Ferelden. We never did return - not while he had his own body. Ever. I have made visits, yes, but it is because there is war. Much war. The Qun’ari have taken Rivain, gained a foothold in Tevinter, and they attack the Free Marches... Ferelden and Seheron were their launch points. We knew this was coming, warning was sent to prepare, but Alistair as king was ignored by too many nobles, Loghain succumbed to the Taint before he could maintain usefulness... So while certain areas were able to withdraw and go into hiding, much of Ferelden was reoccupied. Without a unifying voice, they suffered... Fergus and Teagan’s lines are some of the only remaining noble blood and they fight along with a good sized portion of the populace to remove the Qun’ari. But the Qun’ari have set up towns - the peoples fled beforehand, a scorched earth policy in place. Sadly I must admit that that was under my orders.”

“Understandable. Leave no resources or succor for the invaders.”

Lips twitching, “I am glad you understand. This bought some time, yet, like the Ferelden nobles, the leaders of the Free Marches refused to listen, the Tevinter as well. Rivain... No - no one believed that they would be next. Currently we have a legion in Ferelden, and the Dalish of the region are even fighting. Then again, they have no route of escape... Another thing I will own up to having influenced. So now the Sand Cats legion, the remaining Fereldens and the Dalish are working together. The dwarves provide weapons without cost, knowing that they are next if the Qun’ari break through.”

The gaze appearing to rest on his hands was unfocused, the sorting taking his attention, “Sand Cats?” 

“We have twenty-two legions, as we have been preparing for hundreds of years for the return of the Qun’ari. Before we had news that they would be coming in Twadd’s lifetime, we had seven full duty, and eight smaller ones. The Sand Cats are a mixed group, engineers, riders, scouts, heavy warriors - “ he was interrupted.

“Who’s this we?”

His grin broke out and was broad, he could feel it stretching his face wide, “Antiva, _mi amora._ Antiva who has not had to fight a war for centuries, Antiva, who was underestimated, Antiva, who has been stockpiling and planning and planting spies where they were necessary. Come Blight, come Qun’ari, come Tevinter, come Chantry - we will annihilate them all. And then return to our usual business as though nothing had happened. Because that, my dearest Ferox, is what we _do_.” Resting an elbow on the table and his chin on the back of his hand, “We are the hammer - Thedas is our anvil. And we are better at it than anyone else, because no one ever sees us coming. Unless we wish them to. And if they do, they brown their trousers if they have a lick of common sense.” Tapping the tabletop in emphasis, “Gaeaf and Haf’cath’s Ferelden was not divided and was allied with Antiva, so the war ended quickly. Here, there was only the preparation on the Antivan side along with a few informed nobles - Teagan and Fergus being those.”

Frowning, “And so the anvil failed when struck.”

“Yes. Now we are having to deal with the aftermat. The Arlathanlen - elves directly descended from Arlathan, the Dalish of Arlathan Forest, and the mountainous _Ga’hals Iunimasilsh_ \- the horseclans - are keeping the Hundred Pillars and our northern coast free of Qun’ari. The Dust Wolves legion is striking through to Tevinter. A single legion is not many, but that group is led by the man who sired me. And they are...devastatingly effective.” Thinking about the old scarred elf, he sent a prayer to whatever would listen, that he would come home. “On the other side, Nevarra has been attacking, pouring on the pressure, the Qun’ari will not last long in Tevinter. We have two legions deployed to the Free Marches, our navy and the pirates of Llomerryn and the Orlesian navy prowl from the Colean to the Waking Sea. We need Tevinter free first - recovering, or being used by Nevarra as a launch point for more ships to patrol the northern seas. I believe the Qun’ari have had a major influx of kossith from their homeland, as there are too many for two islands, no matter how large, to support that many of them naturally. Even with the acquisitions of Ferelden, Rivain and Tevinter. What we need is a rallying point. A hero ‘reborn’. Imagine all these countries, ruled by _shemlen_ trying to rally behind an elven slave assassin of a whoreson. Grandmaster or not, hero of a Blight, husband of the Ender of the Blight - son of one of the best generals, ties to so many organizations and infrastructures...” 

Zevran shrugged, “No. No they will not view me as anything more than an upstart seeking power. And they do not rally behind the monarchs of Antiva, or even the noble lines of Cousland and Guerrin. No - they require something ‘neutral’. And so your name and occasional presence at meetings or to curry favours and demand action - yes, that will be attached. That is the practical use your presence will be.” Shaking his head, “After the Qun’ari are subjugated or removed, a sixth Blight must be prepared for. That too is coming and will arrive perhaps in your lifetime...or shortly after it. How much of that did you get? Or do you require time to mull it over?”

A familiar habit was shown by this Ferox, while considering and weighing his thoughts, he scratched twice behind his left ear, “I understand what you have said. You require a puppet. Wrath will tell you that was difficult. In Kirkwall there are many ‘Heroes’ - why me?.”

Disagreeing, “None of them were ‘Ferox Algere’, and no, you do not have to be a puppet. It depends on the level of involvement you wish to have. There is a difference between being a symbol and being a puppet. Symbols rally a cause, symbols can lead, or can be held up as the example - it very much depends on the situation. If you wish to be involved more deeply, to apply yourself and your skills and thoughts, then it would be greatly welcomed. It is just that it is not required if you do not wish to give such assistance.” With a shrug, “Some feel-good propaganda that you sensed the need of Ferelden and Thedas, the call of your beloved husband, pulling you from the Fade or ordered back by the Maker...they will eat from your hands.”

“The plan is crap,” the muted snort was familiar, “but demons are stupid. Tie in Andraste pleading for her people and any idiot will buy it.” 

Snickering, “It also shuts the Chantry up about the heavy use of mages. After all - the Maker approves!”

“I am not the same as Wrath. His body didn’t fit me the first time,” a growled warning disapproving of anything involving stuffing him in another body.

Zevran spread his hands as he shook his head, “Ahh...artistic licence of the sculptors who have made many statues of the Archdemon being struck own. After all - a man in heavy plate cuts a better figure than one in a rogue’s leathers. Easily explained, _querido_. And those few who knew him when he was youthful that yet live, are on _our_ side. They will not care, to them, you are yourself. So long as things run smoothly and you are all friendly - or as friendly as it can be - then all will be well.”

 _’You’re also forgetting that they all just want you to be happy. You drive yourself too hard and we all know it.’_ There was a good deal of scolding in his love’s tone, _’If this shattered creature can get you to take a day or two a month off at least, then that alone is worth it.’_

Of course, it was the last bit of ‘being friendly’ that was going to be the stumbling block, it certainly wasn’t a character trait either Anders or Nathaniel had mentioned or attributed to their Commander. Still looking at his hands folded on the table, Ferox finally spoke, “It’s not a terrible plan. Let me consider it.”

Those hands were familiar and so different, slimmer and bonier, the thickness of the wrists not the same, but the strength was in their ability to twist and bend. It was difficult to refrain from studying these small changes that were larger, to reach out and touch, to try and bring comfort with those things. Instead he crossed his before his plate, leaning to keep them from reaching out, pinning them subtly, much the way Ferox had set the fork down, refusing himself something wanted. The only thing was that the flan would not protest being eaten, while Ferox would protest being touched too much.

“It is a rough plan, I did not know enough about you to make more than the loosest of commitments to it. Change can be applied quickly as necessary,” shrugging. “As for my personal reasons...”

Ferox interrupted, as he got to his feet, “They can wait until air is obtained.”

Inclining his head, “Of course.”

Once the door closed, Zevran let his head fall into his hands, _’None of that came out well...’_ It was too hard to think straight with the pounding in his head, with the ache to be close. _’Our plan is far more ridiculously awesome than that bit of...drivel I spouted off! He will think me an idiot who is only out to use him... Well, more than a ‘demon’ would generally.’_

_’He didn’t say ‘no’ and he isn’t shy. Brusque without question...but from what information was available, I expected a fight before and after the ‘no’. Since he asked for the plan first, he already accepted that he would be used. Give him his minute of air to settle what he has learned, Love.’_

Finishing his plate, Zevran put a bit more on Ferox’s, covering it, hoping that he would return and allow himself to consume more. He was far too thin. _’You know I have no desire to use him...’_ Truthfully the real reason Cyni was there was because he needed to be and because Zevran was selfish.

_’The others said how boredom and being directionless affected him. You heard what he listed, what tasks he had been given and what had been accomplished. Almost like he needs a to-do list with check boxes to fill in with an ‘X’. He may claim to want autonomy, but he has no clue what to do with it... Wrath...I mean Gaeaf - now I’m doin’ it - said the man wasn’t reading when the books were open on his lap, they were there to make it look like he was doing something. Or later, after Gaeaf was able to reach out, the man was made to ‘read’, to keep him distracted from talking and was herded to action he didn’t want to take. He needs something to do, as his time after Amaranthine clearly showed.’_

Clearing the table other than Ferox’s plate of seconds, Zevran walked the tray back to the galley. _’Busy, we can keep him quite easily. Purpose was something I wished to ensure he had. Even you chafed when you did not have something to do - it was just that you are more easily content with small things.’_

A flirting rumble, _’I can also entertain myself, especially with you around, Love.’_

 _’Braska, wait until we are in our room if you please...’_ even as he felt sneaky mental fingers running over his mind teasingly.

Laughter, _’Don’t you say that every time? It would be interesting to see what he does in his free time other than staring off the deck...we all do that. Go find him now, he’s had his minute of air...remember what the cat said about accidentally putting him off,’_ mental eyes were rolled.

 _’Very true.’_ Joining the rogue on the deck, he leaned against the railing, “Would you mind overmuch if I stayed near you for a bit? I will do my utmost to not aggravate you further or interrupt your thoughts, _querido._ ”

The grunt that was given neither accepted nor denied, but after a time he asked, “How long did you keep yours?” evidently unable to give his own name to another.

“Sixty years, well over eighty if one counts the state he is in now,” answering, the figure always taking him aback when he thought about it. “There are magics that can stem the Taint’s tide and pull, and we set to work on that as soon as we left Ferelden. And my own abilities allowed me to keep his mind strong. When he was tired of the aches and pains, of the fact that I no longer had a ‘free moment’ away from him as I had to constantly bolster his mind, he said it was time.” The tears welled up even so many years later, “He was as beautiful that day as he was the day he kissed me on his own...” The railing was strangled beneath his hands, twisting over the wood, “Letting him go was the hardest thing I have ever done, _amora._ Even though I knew he and I could be together for the rest of my life, it was still...” Sucking in a sharp breath at the pain in his chest, “Apologies - I did not mean to burden you with that.”

Ferox was not looking at the water, the gaze was holding fairly steady on Zevran’s face. “You are not looking for a replacement. For the reasons you have given...your symbol and rallying point, certainly.” 

“No, I am not looking for a replacement, _amora._ He is infinitely precious as himself, in his own ways, separate and different from you.” Wiping the tears away, Zevran looked up at him, “Just as you are. Neither of you are interchangeable, each has value and worth beyond mere symbol or companion. Haf’cath and I can agree on that most certainly.”

“What worth do I have? Other than giving headaches, of course,” a joke given at his own expense, a surprising and shocking thing, unexpected, but welcome. 

Stupidly grateful, it could be a ploy to make him think that he was settling in or it could be real, either way, it was still worth it to hear that faint warmth. “It is not easily put into words. But I ache for you and wish to give things to you, good things. In some ways it is a compulsion, an addiction that I cannot help. Nor do I wish to.”

The boy’s brow furrowed, “And yet you say we didn’t meet before Kirkwall. How is any of what you want possible or set apart from Wra...your husband?”

“Haf’cath showed me you, he gave me some of his memories...well...many of them actually. Mostly about the children and things... Twadd and I had no need to deal with Anora... So there was no Len or Iona.” His gaze slid away, watching the water, “We have other children. You might recognize Helion - he looks like what you would consider a twenty-something version of my father. Without the facial scarring. And he still has his ears. And taller. Taller than I am at least. Then again, he is part human - even if his ears wriggle constantly, I keep telling him that if he wants to be less transparent, he needs to learn to stop doing that! Bryce is...very much like his father, but he is the rogue, while Helion is the warrior. To some degree. I swear, half the time they share a mind. Then there are Elissa and Eleanor...” Clearing his throat, “Though that was not the answer to what you asked... Um...he showed me how you were. His assessment, his worry over you. Even if he had to, not precisely hide, but muffle it from Gaeaf. Though once they shared a single body, it is likely he knew just how much Haf’cath hurt over fearing for you.”

“You say two Desire demons have merged with their deadmen. Much like Anders and Justice. Even though you are not the same being as the other Desire demon, you have shared memories,” Ferox restated and Zevran still wasn’t sure that the young man understood.

Nodding as he decided to let the issue slide, “In essence, yes. Kirkwall is a very strange place. I have known two versions of myself. One we call Dassan, though I met him only for a brief time. Haf’cath knew him better. He was... _saarbaas_ \- dangerous. Very dangerous. Altered.” Twitching, “Taller than you, shoulders to match, and far stronger physically than he should have been. Tortured and remade by the blood mages of his House of Crows. In some ways he was a monster. While I would not say he was harmless, he was capable of great kindness. And if he knew I said that he would likely gut me.”

The tell-tale scratch behind an ear, “Most demons, especially ones who make Desire their speciality, would have come up with a more believable lie, or at least a story easier to swallow.”

“You may never believe this, but I am no demon and you are not dead,” turning he put his back against the railing. “Twadd may have, well, he still does, tease me by saying I am the emperor of Desire demons, or that they learn at my knee, but as interesting as it would be if that were true, it is not. I am mortal, I have no special powers beyond what the Taint gives me and my _elvhen_ blood in terms of my senses, I cannot change shape, wave my hand and will surroundings to be different. I cannot summon flame or ice or any element without actual tools to do so. My only ‘magic’ is that of being an exceptionally good rogue and having a strong mind. That and my cooking, that is where I work true magic, or so I was told by a very hungry Warden quite often.”

Strange, backhanded praise, “I do find you more...upfront with the ‘truth’ or what is expected of me, than before. And I appreciate that you haven’t put Wrath into my mind.”

“I am not tired the same way. And I am also much older than he was when you knew him,” conceding easily. “I have had time to deal with much larger organizations than a single country and their running. If I chose, I could make myself king of Antiva, Rivain once I am finished dealing with that, if I wanted - not that I do, mind you. Basically I have aged. If you met him now, he would also act much differently towards you. He has buried his husband, a wife, a mother, three sons, daughters, many friends. Haf’cath is older than I by a goodly portion, you would find him...different. Less emotional and worried.” Trying to explain, or possibly put it in a perspective the young man would understand, “Also, keep in mind, you were occupying the body of his husband. Rather suddenly, through no fault of your own. There was no time to prepare, to think, to plan on how to speak with you. For all intents and purposes, he was flying by the seat of his pants as the saying goes. And I am not going to put Twadd into your head - as it is your head and should stay that way. Sharing a body with someone is not an easy thing if both people are unwilling to work together.”

An unrepressed snort, “I couldn’t tell you...yes, yes I can, he was worse than any headache.”

Ruefully, “Like yourself, he is an acquired taste. Twadd is, as I have said, much easier going. However, rile him the wrong way and he is far worse, because everyone expects him to be in good humour.” Laughing, “There was this one time at a party...well...everyone was not wearing much, paint, food, jewelry, smiles... And he took exception to the way someone spoke to me - and threw them out of a fifth story window. Ah well, good times, hmn?”

_’Third story! And his landing wasn’t terrible...only a few bones were broken. Too bad really, because I was aiming for the building next door. To this day, I still blame the spiked punch.’_

_’You are forgetting the lacerations from all that glass...needless to say he was not able to recover the ability for certain activities, **querido**. As good as dead for many men, hmn?’_

_’I needed a handle...’_ If he had been there in person, Twadd would have collapsed to the ground with the laughter.

Putting face to palm, Zevran shook his head, chuckling, “Twadd is such a glorious - ah, what was the word Moira used? ‘Goof’. Yes, such a glorious goof. So, if you see me randomly laughing, blame it on him, as I am not laughing at you, _amora_.” Pausing to squint at the sky, the sun low on the horizon having ducked under the clouds readying for a brilliant sunset, “Though this light is hurting my eyes as they are naturally sensitive to light in the first place but it is more so now, so, if you like you may stay here, join me in the cabin, or if you prefer, you could retire to your own. It is up to you, but know that you are welcome to whichever you choose and that I would also enjoy your presence.”

“I do not mind joining you. Your conversation may keep me off the railing this evening,” referring to the incident earlier that day when Zevran had had to exert control.

He drifted off on the box seat sofa, but he found that he was perfectly comfortable, even with the wounded beast nearby. And he also had his own personal Spirit watching over him, keeping him lulled with the sensation of arms around him. Which was an effect he bolstered by hugging himself in sleep. But he was aware anyway of the other, a doze was not true sleep by any means. A blanket was laid over him before Ferox let himself out, the sound of steps led to his own cabin with only a slight hesitation at the door leading to the deck.

From all signs given so far this journey, Ferox did not sleep in the bunk, or if he did, it was always remade the same way...which would not explain the imprint of a knothole on his jawline each morning, nor the lack of his scent upon the bed. With his Chasind eye protectors on, looking off the bow, he had taken up a familiar balancing rocking ‘game’ that seemed to be common to the Feroxes. Remarkably, he had avoided doing anything rash so far that day, however his usual sparse and blunt speech had been even more so. 

Stepping up with mugs of fresh tea, he offered one, “Do you mind overly if I intrude, _amora_?”

“What do you need?” the question growled even as Ferox turned to him. 

“I would like to be near you, it is...comforting for me. But if it is uncomfortable or unwanted, that is alright,” answering honestly. “I will leave you be if that is your wish.”

“Do what you wish. I do not care,” but he did take the mug and found a makeshift seat, making room.

They sat in companionable silence and Zevran let his eyes slide closed, taking in the sound of the boat cutting through the water, Ferox’s breathing, and the occasional rumble from his own, ‘rereading’ of memories as he did when bored. It was the smell he craved nearby, his body thrumming, telling him that all he had to do was lean over and press his face into a broad shoulder or the side of a neck to swamp his mind with it and the associated love and peace. But he would not presume such a thing, not when he had already gained so much. Holding the mug with both hands to keep them from straying to another set of hands or a thigh, Zevran just let his mind and body relax, letting everything go as he had not done in so very long.

“Why didn’t you two return to Ferelden? I wouldn’t have thought leaving was a choice.” The question was almost a peace offering or an apology, although the actual words were not given.

“I asked him to take Morrigan’s ritual, to not leave me... He had intended on dying atop the Fort.” It was a good thing such memories were older, as they still made him shudder. “Life without him at that point... No. I would not have... He was my life. My Maker. My purpose. My heart... My soul when I thought nothing was worth living for anymore, he spared me on a dirt road. Losing him would have been losing everything that was of worth. Everything good in the world. I begged him to take the ritual. And so he gave that to me. Gave me his life he said, when I have always felt that I have given him mine. My heart, my body, my soul, my position, my wealth, power...everything. Remaining alive even now is for him. If I did not have him in my breast and mind, I likely would have pined away by now.” Staring down into his cup before taking another sip, “Ferelden demanded everything of him, even its gifts were burdens. Too much was asked of a wounded young man, so we left once the last burden that was forced upon him was dealt with. I have his mother’s, your mother’s, signet ring still.” Flipping his hand over, displaying the seal on his pinky, “Even this was something he was unsure of taking, feeling it might be used to force him to return. He dropped the ‘Cousland’ from his name, refused to answer to ‘Warden’, and he did not go to a Calling. He died peacefully in my arms in one of our orchards, beside a fountain, in the sunlight, never to be in the dark again.”

 _’It could have been the Deep Roads, and if it was in your arms, I would still have been in the sunlight, Love,’_ gentle comfort and warmth filled him, the sensation of strong, familiar arms wrapping around him there, holding him tight.

 _’You are going to make me cry, **querido** , if you insist upon saying such beautiful things to me,’_ thinking with great affection. _’He must already think me weak and weepy at this point.’_

The one next to him growled, “Similar stories were heard in Kirkwall, but Wrath kept everything.”

Zevran glanced up at him, wishing he could convince without forcing him to eat more. His features were far too gaunt. “Yes, he did. They walked their paths differently. Just as you did.” Giving in, he lay his hand on the leg closest to him, “For what it is worth, Zevran did wish to die. All of us were forced to betray and kill someone we loved deeply. We were tricked by another into thinking she had betrayed us, risked our mission, convinced that she had to be punished... She died believing we hated her, spat on the love she gave us. It was seeing Ferox that made me wish to live, at least a little. The expression in his eyes was one of suffering that was a twin to my own. It was penance to seek to undo some of what was seen - one so young should not have such a burden on their soul. I would hazard a guess that the same is true for Haf’cath, and likely even the one you left on the road. He would have born you no ill will.”

Glancing at his hand, Ferox took a swallow of tea and made no protest. “I did not want to be hounded across Ferelden by something that talked as much as he did.”

“Words are a tool. Strength, speed, dexterity - these things fade with age. But the mind that is nimble and the voice that is convincing can be as mighty as an army,” he gestured generally towards Antiva. “Words can give courage, cause war, soothe fears, give knowledge, trade information, express emotion. The talkative assassin who is pretty, is no threat, he says whatever comes to mind, birthed from the air between his over-large ears, and his whorehouse upbringing, no thoughts but pretty baubles and sex. It is a shield and armour as surely as any leather or metal.”

Growling, “Or a weapon to a man with a sword and an ogre of a headache. Picking one’s audience would seem to be an important survival skill.”

Shrugging, “Who would know that you have a pit worm burrowing into your temple and another worming its way from your brain out your eye socket? He would not have been able to tell. You masked it well, if I had not known to watch for it, I would have missed it. He, on the other hand, was likely badly wounded, concussed, lost a goodly portion of blood, so you cannot fault him for doing his best anyway. No one is perfect, _querido,_ least of all myself or any other I have known.”

It was a slow admission, the words only reluctantly coming, “It is a constant thing. It is only rated as less or more than a short time ago. It is noticed most when it is gone or lightened. I wonder then how it was born and what was missed, so much for perfect.”

“We have very skilled healers, far more skilled than what Ferelden would have had on offer. I want one to have a look at you, to see what can be done. Mostly because I have no wish to contain and bear this indefinitely,” touching his left temple. “It is not an action begrudged, it is just...very irritating, it makes me act a fool around you, and it makes you more hostile - which is quite understandable. There will be enough problems without me acting like a besotted, weepy brat or you snarling at allies because your brain is far too large for your skull. If nothing can be done, well, then we know, yes?” Squeezing the thigh, he felt that while it was sinewy and strong, it was still too thin, dangerously so if he wished to survive Antiva and fresh battles with kossith, before withdrawing it to the confines of his own lap. “You should not have to suffer because someone was stupid, making foolish mistakes and doing you harm.”

Ferox snarled, issuing a warning, “Twice you have taken something that belongs to me. The first time you returned it to me. Do not press.”

Formulating a response carefully, “Knowing that you suffer when I can do something to ease it, to remove it, to take the burden from your shoulders, or to at least share it - this is what is done for someone cared for. You asked what you were worth to me - then I will say, as it is the best explanation I have - you are worth the effort.”

“I wished for another death when the pokers were re-thrust into my brain, the blinding agony suddenly returned to me. I would have rather kept them in place, accepting the pain as it came, than having gone from nothing to everything in one moment. You said you heard that I called out upon awakening, that is as good a reason as any other.” 

“I heard that you did much more than just call out, but I will not press, as you have asked me not to,” he touched Ferox’s hand briefly before he stood. “You will not be forsaken or abandoned or sent or taken away, and there is no price in terms of your soul. I am no demon to demand it.” Bowing, “Thank you for having allowed me to spend time with you, Ferox. Dinner will be in a few hours, but my door is always open to you.”

....  
.  
Recognizable steps entered the passageway and entered Ferox’s cabin.

_’For the record, I can’t say that headache’s good for either of you, Love. He seems to snarl whether or not he’s got it and you have not been yourself since receiving it.’_

_’I will not let him suffer. He has to learn that he will not be punished, that he was not ejected from the safety he had thought he finally found...handing it back to him just because he snarls and snaps with or without it... It would only reinforce the idea that he deserves nothing good.’_ Clothes removed and switched out for an old robe, still brilliantly coloured so many years later, woven with healing magic and love, cut and shaped to fit someone much larger than himself, Zevran cuddled into the cool bed. _’I wish this still smelled like you **querido**...’_

_’I thought that you wanted me to smell like you with that oil in my hair or rolling yourself over me.’_

Throaty laughter vibrated, memories and action brought back to the forefront. _’Oh yes, I wanted to smell myself all over you and vice versa...’_

_’Have you not yet concocted some similar scent?’_

Settling in, _’No, only on the surface and you know it, good ser. There is access to some next door that is much closer, but he smells slightly different - the diet is not the same.’_

_’And the Taint is stronger too. You both need a trip to the healer. But he’ll have to pass inspection first...’_

_’Other than the headache and the tripwires in his mind to keep him from doing damage, I have not been expending much use of it, so there should not be much extra deterioration for now,’_ as he loosened his braid so it was left unfolded but still bound, Zevran frowned. He didn’t dare take off Ferox’s amulets to trade it for the large one that would allow him to reach farther. 

_’I don’t think he’s done fighting you. He’s figuring out the new rules.’_

Trying not to snort, _’Of course he is not finished, **querido**. He was shown the iron hand when brought to the boat, now he receives the velvet glove. As soon as he does more than test his limits, he will be shown the iron hand once more - this is not complex, **amora** , give me some credit.’_

_’Peace, Zevran. I was pointing out that your contact with the Taint will not end for some time. Credit is given. Come and rest. I have said you are doing too much, give him some back. Not suddenly, not in punishment, but so you can maintain calm.’_

Grumbling with relative petulance, “I can handle it, but is it too bloody much to get a hug around here? One of these days I will use my power as Grandmaster and order everyone to give me a hug.”

 _’I will not leave you, Love.’_ A memory was plucked. His head rested over a blue marked chest, slow heartbeat in his ear, arms tight around him, the bedding silky soft, and the wanted scent surrounding him in the detailed recollection, lulling Zevran to sleep.

....

Ferox was eating, their meal quiet, and he waited until the Warden finally stopped before speaking. Pouring an elegant cup for first Ferox then himself, “How went today’s attempt? Still unsuccessful in it, though I understand that if one only has a single chance, the strike had best be good. Killing yourself will not serve any purpose, Ferox. If you need pain, you are capable of inflicting it without killing yourself. But removing yourself like that is...” Frowning into his cup as he took a sip, “If Twadd and I worked so hard to keep him alive for so long, and before that, myself working so hard - what in the name of anything you hold remotely holy, makes you think I would allow you to kill yourself? I am not angry, but I am disappointed, that is the honest truth. Do you think that suicide will return you to your barren hellhole? No, all it will do is end any chance you have at a home, unless the duplicate is waiting for you on the other side of the Fade. But why he would, after he was so soundly rejected, I do not know. Then again, we are the type of person to accept it as a challenge, so perhaps he is waiting, curious enough about you to have remained.” 

Taking a deep breath he released it, “Ferox, you are far too good and far too wanted to just throw any chance away that you have for some form of...something that just might be worthwhile. Allow me to break it down for you - Haf’cath and I have waited and watched for decades. Decades - not days, weeks, months, or years. _Decades_. More than a generation of time. Several in fact. People do not wait so long over someone worthless or unwanted or uncared for. If you happened to succeed, it would only be tearing yourself away, when there is absolutely no intention of allowing anything else from taking you against your will ever again from where you actually are wanted. You would subject those who have waited for you to the same loss you felt when you returned to your body. Give me a year - give me a year to show you, and if after a year, _after_ a year, not before, you still wish to go through with it... Then at least let me be there for you.”

It was clear that Ferox had heard, even nodded an agreement at one point. After some thought he asked, “You are requesting a commitment to support your plan?”

“No,” he shook his head once, firmly. “Take part in it because it will give you something to do, but a year to try and see if there is something...some reason that you would be willing to remain. You deserve a chance to have good in your life, Ferox. Whether you take hold of it with both hands and hang on... I cannot force you to do that. I could, but, would it be you doing so? No... No it has to be something you decide you wish to still hang on to. You are worthy and not rejected from...whatever you consider the Golden City. To me, to others, those of us who do not believe we are dead or demons, but living, breathing people, this is just Thedas. But if to you it is a place - no, I am not saying this correctly.” Rubbing his temples, “Allow me to try, so that you have actual options. To stay or to go. To live or to die. The only ‘good’ or ‘bad’ choice is how I view it. Dying... Letting you go, to me, is the bad choice. But if to you that is the good choice... I cannot judge.”

_’Love, words don’t move him.’_

Clenching his cup hard enough for it to break, he snapped, “Well words are all I have at this time as I am unwilling to break his mind!” Porcelain dug into his palm and he snarled fit to shame the one across from him and he ripped it free of the flesh, “I am sorry, Ferox, it was not you I was yelling at.” It took a few deep breaths before he could speak with any semblance of calm, _’Apologies, **mi hermoso corizon** , I did not mean to lose my temper. Please forgive me.’_

The eyes had focused again as they had at the railing, “No one is perfect.”

“Least of all myself,” he agreed, lips pursed while working at the shards in his fingers and palm.

“Can I help you?” except for the slight growl, it was polite.

Rolling both hands so the backs rested on the tabletop, “If you desire to, it would be welcome, _amora._ But if you do not, I am well accustomed to tending my own wounds.”

Reaching down, apparently to fish something out of a boot, Ferox pulled out a small kit. Unrolling it to reveal some of his tools, he selected a pair of tweezers and after running them through a flame, set about pulling out the sharp bits. 

_’Actions are louder to him, to all of us really.’_

_’So I should do as I did with you and merely foist myself upon him?’_ watching the nimble work. _’He clearly does not like to be touched much, so I do not touch him. I do not send him away, I do not yell, I do not...all I am left with is words or force.’_

_’He has not pulled away from you whenever you touch him. However it is your tears, your shivering, in those moments you show need - when actions are required or wanted from him. Those moments have his attention, he finds your face. But your words, your words are plentiful and he sorts through, only picking out what he thinks is important. It’s not gaining his focused attention. Speak all you wish, he’s not hearing that well. Could be the damage. I haven’t been in that mind.’_

_’We could go in when he sleeps, but I wish to hold that off unless it is an absolute necessity.’_ “How is your sense of smell?” a thought occurring. 

Absently, occupied with the task, “What do you mean?”

“Could you smell Alistair’s socks when he took his boots off by the fire to change them?” 

“Sitting next to him, I suppose,” said with a slight lift of a tight shoulder. 

Grunting, “Never mind then. You all have broken senses of smell then.”

“Why do you wish to know?” removing a long thin sliver from the length of index finger.

Blood welled up from the slashes and gashes, making the splinters and shards sticky but Ferox’s hand remained steady. “Because I wanted to know if you could smell me as I smell you.” 

“I watched you sniff and determine that Len had been in a room several hours after he had left. I had been in that same room and watched him fall asleep. Without observing him with my eyes I couldn’t have answered that he was there _even then_ based solely upon scent.” Switching the tweezers to his other hand for a better angle, Ferox continued to work.

“Mmn, that was not I who smelled Len. I have never seen the boy other than what has been shown. He was beautiful, that much I know. Just like his father.” Sighing, “He is dead now too, so I will never get to meet him, I must admit I am envious of that experience. But to clarify, it was just a stupid question. Your scent brings me comfort. Mine brings Twadd the same. All I have are memories of it for the most part and faint traces here and there.” Taking a deep breath while leaning closer, “I can barely feel the glass because my head is filled with your scent.”

“Demon, this could be your second or third attempt for all I know.” Brown eyes lifting to his for a moment, serious, “I guarantee more glass is still there,” more more plucking and setting aside fragments. After finding the last hidden chips in the lines of the palm, Ferox got up to clean his tools and find something for the bleeding. “I remember keeping elfroot in my pack.

“I have salve and bandages in the trunk,” Zevran indicated with his elbow the box-sofa trunk at the foot of his bed. “The green pot and silk bandages beside it.”

The thick cushion was lifted and set aside, the lid opened and the supplies gained. Bringing the washbasin and kettle, the wounds were cleaned for a final inspection before Ferox applied the salve and bandaged his hands. Everything was put away, broken shards swept and spills sopped. As, like the others, this Ferox could not leave things out of their place either. The last thing put away was the tool kit, slipped back into the boot. Pausing as if something was amiss, Ferox reached across the table for Zevran’s hands again and unexpectedly kissed the pad of each finger and thumb. It seemed that the boy was repeating an action that had been done to him, something that had touched him, reached him and the creature sought to give the same care.

His throat was tight at the gesture and he curled his fingers over the scruffy cheeks for a moment, “Do you know what the things I call you mean?”

Although there had been gentleness in the deeds, and kindness in the touch, the growling voice contained neither, “No, I do not.” Releasing his hands, Ferox pushed his still full cup to the center of the table to share as Zevran had shared the flan with him. 

The boy gave with his hands and took away with his mouth, as his husband had pointed out.

“Would you like to know?” as he leaned closer, running the pad of his uninjured thumb against the corner of Ferox’s mouth.

A cheek twitched as if he might smile, one that did not appear, “I had thought you would say when you needed to. Otherwise I would have asked when you invited questions.”

“ _Amora_ means love, _amante_ is lover, _corizon_ means heart, _querido_ is beloved,” it came out nearly as a chant, remembering a cold winter morning and three questions with three followups. “ _Querido_ is the best of the bunch, so I have been told.”

“And would explain Wrath’s snarls when it is used,” understanding crossed Ferox’s features. 

_’Maker. I haven’t snarled, have I? Gaeaf would have though and they would be unable to escape each other. Trapped in the same body.’_

_’No, but I have, and I am so sorry, **querido**. You did not deserve that of me,’_ apologetically.

 _’There is no need for concern. I am here with you, Love,’_ phantom hands rested on his shoulders, squeezing and releasing, loosening his tenseness.

Sending his love and his apology to his husband, his gaze still focused on the one before him, his thumb still circling and roving the same spot, “Will you consider remaining for a year, _querido_?”

Ferox sharpened his focus, “I will think on it because you ask it. The year you propose would begin upon landing?” seeking to clarify the contract’s terms.

“It could start sooner, however we have only two weeks before we land, either way - just let me know when you come to a decision, yes or no.” Certain he had almost pressed his famous luck too far, he forced his hands away. “There is no time limit on how long you wish to think on it.”

The cheek twitched again, “You do see the irony. Taking me away against my will then promising that I’ll not be taken away against my will.” 

Brows bouncing, “Actually I do not see the irony. There are many ways to look at things. What I said implied, and was intended to state, that you would not be ripped away from what you had referred to as the Golden City. In terms you can understand, perhaps you should think of it as you were taken from the Black City this time, so that you could return to the Golden one. And no one will ask you for your soul, it is yours, and no one can take it from you and you cannot give it to any mortal that I am aware of. But you do not believe I am a person, but a demon, so I must be laying in wait for any gap so that I might wrest it from you. You do not have to give anything up to be welcome and wanted where we are going. While, where you were, you gave up...everything nearly, or had it torn from you.” With a shake of his head, “No, these are just words to you.” Reaching out once more he lay a hand over Ferox’s cheek, “I will show you.”

Opening his mind, Zevran gathered up his intent, his want, his ache, his gratitude that Ferox had arrived, his love, and let it spread out from that touch, keeping so much of it back, watching carefully to ensure it did not swamp. _’I want to take nothing from you other than burdens that you should not bear alone, Ferox. I only wish to share and give.’_

Even the small bit that was shared caused the boy to shake. Hoarsely, “I have seen and tasted this before and no good came of it. I took more than was given.”

He saw the damage, saw how he had been used and beaten down, heard the tasks that had been handed from high and the words that were used, saw what had brought this creature shuddering and quavering to his knees, saw what the poor child had been willing to give, had opened his hand to give, what precious and rare coin he was prepared to pay, what he had understood he was to receive and how it was torn from him as he was flung back into his pit of agony and punishment. He saw the despair and the plummet into darkness, the pieces falling faster and with greater frequency into the chasm than they had before. Ferox believed with every bit that was left of him, that he had been forsaken, abandoned, thrown out of the light, thrown back into the garbage trench because he was unworthy, unwanted, unloved - not just by the brother who had ‘killed’ him, but by the one he had hoped to loved.

Gently and slowly pulling it back in slightly, “Because you were torn from it. That is what I will not allow. This time, this time you are here as yourself. There is space for you, there is place. The only person who can take you from it, is yourself.” Scooting his chair closer, maintaining contact, his arm looped around the broad shoulders, “You will never be torn away again unless it is your wish.” Voice soft, “You took nothing other than what was given to you. You did not presume.” He let the flow begin again, the seep steady but even slower, aware that too much would destroy and leave nothing but a melted puddle before him. “I can give you more than this, but I will not use it to force you to my will. Whether you choose to listen and feel, that is your choice. Not mine.” Giving a bit of strength, the flush of conviction, “You will not be taken or forced away from it. You may leave if you want in a year, if you want that still. Until then, I will continue to fight to buy time until you believe me. If you wait a year, in that time I will do everything I can to show you without force, what is here.”

_’Feeding into the Demon theory?’_

_’What choice do I have? It is the language he speaks, it is the reality he knows. Everything else is just gibberish.’_

_’I thought your actions were working and the task given to him gave purpose. He initiated touch. Love, what drives you so? This is unlike you.’_

_’I did not realize the depths of his belief that he had done wrong for having found a sliver of peace,’_ he showed Twadd what he was seeing within the other’s mind, the nuance of each flavour. _’Time might very well be of the essence.’_

 _’Gaeaf started what?’_ The memories were closely examined, _’And used him to storm the ‘Golden City’? Oh, Maker. Did Haf’cath speak of this?’_

Zevran remained steady outwardly, but viewing the memories, jumbled, the soul crushing despair so deep that it was a wonder the creature before him had managed to survive at all, left his insides roiling with turmoil. In some ways the worst was when Gaeaf had told Ferox that he wasn’t worthy to be a parent, that he was too weak and stupid to build a secure area of the ‘Fade’ and if he had a single bit of brain, he would follow Gaeaf’s instructions. All with the implication that there was no way Ferox would manage it, because he was just a deadman. _’Not in detail. Haf’cath was ashamed that he had pushed when he knew that Cyni would be leaving at some point... And what Gaeaf did, Maker, how could he? How? And Haf’cath likely did not know...’_

 _’Certainly explains his confession and list of tasks accomplished in such a short time, however this man sheers off to become talus at the bottom of the cliff wall.’_ He gave a rare curse, _’Anything to get the job done then. Maker, Maker how - look, I may think this one is broken, but Maker...even how angry he would have been over actual purposeful damage to the children, even Len’s attempt at poisoning...but how could Gaeaf intentionally frell him up more?’_ The voice in his mind lept to a startling conclusion, _’You know what, or who he is, don’t you? He’s exactly like Ruck! Can’t go home, too broken and changed to be loved, hangin’ around in the dark with scary things...Maker... Then hearing Gaeaf’s voice on top of it and everything that was said and done...’_ Confined in the mind even as he was, his husband was hopping up and down with rage.

He kept his touch gentle and secure, sending ease with the gratitude that Ferox had arrived to the forefront, the joy at having known he would soon be brought home, _’This then is what was left unsaid. And why it is us here rather than them...’_ Repeating the vow, _’He will not be forsaken. He will not be abandoned. He will not be torn away. And most of all, he will not die alone in the dark!’_

Holding Ferox steady as he gasped for air, sending calm, “Would you like to stay close tonight, _amora_? Or for a little bit longer?” He rested his cheek on the mahogany crown, “I do not think that I can part from you for at least a few hours without pain.” 

The was question unasked as Ferox searched for the reason, what action was required, and finding none, looked to the last thing that was hurt, “Your hands are fine.” 

“It is not a physical pain, my sweet boy,” his voice hoarse, maintaining the link softly. “It is a pain in my heart that your presence eases.” Through the touch he gave Ferox a dream like state, relaxing him, so that the wild creature would not fight and struggle, or need air or want to flee. 

“I have provided warmth to you before, Demon. I do not mind,” the perpetual growl was less harsh as Ferox was pulled into a more serene state of mind. 

A pair of cut off and worn silk leggings was changed into and they climbed into the bed. The boy idly wondered, “Why is the bed cold?”

“Frostrock - it is in a box beneath, it helps...ah it is an Antivan thing to help us deal with the heat.” Slipping in next to him, nearly growling at the fact that Ferox needed at least twenty pounds before he could qualify as ‘fairly’ healthy. Of course he was a rogue and would not require the sixty or seventy more of a warrior, but a solid thirty to forty would not hurt him at all. With a flick he tugged the covers up, “When people sleep they make more heat and when another person is there that makes even more heat... The frostrock makes it so that this extra heat is balanced somewhat.”

“The flame ones might be nice. More care with those.” The light dream quality maintained, an almost drifting began to be achieved.

“It is not much of a worry where we will be in Antiva. But I came up with a system,” he preened faintly. “Well, no, I applied the system the Antivans use for frostrock, but to firerock. Glass vial with a leather string around the neck, the rock fragments in it, and a container of water - drop the vials in, string outside of the container, heat generation... It was a lifesaver during the Blight when we holed up in Soldier’s Peak as well as during the long march. Also - very good for keeping tea warm. Or a bath.”

In the darkness, the was a nod and a sound of understanding, “Much warmer. I had wondered how to make something like that for my boots in the Frostbacks.” Ferox settled into the mattress.

“Hmn, now that would be ingenious...” Finding a comfortable spot so they were touching, but he hoped it was without invading Ferox’s space unduly. “Perhaps a cup that would have fit in them? Half full of ice and then a vial? By morning you could carefully extract the vial and cup, dump out the contents after putting on the toasty boots...” Stroking the shoulder near his face, “Is this alright, Ferox? Are you comfortable?”

A sigh of indecision, “Too comfortable,” the truth was felt in the amulet. The man was not seeking to throw off the ‘spell’ he was weaving, nor was he fighting him. 

“Would that be so bad?” curious, wanting to hear his reasoning, to see what would have to be adjusted so that the place would be more ‘comfortable’. “Usually that is what is said when an overlarge chair is devouring someone, sucking them in so they cannot get up to go answer a door or go work or some such... Making it so that all that is desired is to grab a book and a mug of tea and ignore the world.”

Beginning to drift, “I have never seen a chair...oh,” a noise of dismissing the impossible thought at last seeing the exaggeration. However the child’s admission was no less unbelievable, “Demons are everywhere and mattresses are too comfortable to be aware and I sleep too...deeply. Shrieks and Rage demons can rise from the floor, the walls...a fireplace. Spiders drop from the ceiling. Nowhere is safe.” Turning, Ferox curled on his side facing Zevran, his eyes closing to the darkness, the safety and security shared in the link still working their ‘magic’, the need to stay continuing. The forehead furrowed as if the mind knew something was afoot, but the body had given in. Zevran kissed it away softly. “What’re you doin’?”

“I am making it so that no Rage demons, spiders, or shrieks will bother us while we sleep, _querido._ ” Sliding an arm beneath Ferox’s head, he drew him close so the young, wounded child-man, could hear the steady beat of his heart, “I do not like being interrupted from a good night’s rest by creatures that seek to rob me of it so negatively.”

“Ah...then don’t open...don’t open chests and bottles,” the advice was mumbled into his chest.

On into the night, Zevran and Twadd catalogued memories and experiences, most of which Zevran couldn’t bear to look at for long, else his heart shatter. It was tempting to modify and supplant items that had caused extreme anguish, but to do so would be the same as erasing bits and pieces of Ferox. So they worked on saving the whole first. Later, if it was absolutely necessary, they could edit beyond a slight fuzzing of the worst things found. The instinct to cut and alter the mind beneath their hands to suit their purposes was strong, but he refused to do it, he refused to add such a hurt - one that would not be remembered, but no less horrifying as what Gaeaf had done, lashing out in his own anger and distress, turning them into weapons - not when there were so many other things. 

_’In a year if he takes the offer and then decides to kill himself - what will you do?’_ books were scribed within the library of their linked minds, the mirage the focus that gave their ability power.

Ordering a shelf chronologically, script flowing from the touch of a fingertip, giving name and year to the experiences contained therein, giving voice to his own calculating enterprise, _’I will take his mind and give it peace. You will have his body and we will continue doing what has been laid out.’_

It wasn’t the choice either of them desired, but Zevran would not speak of the other thing he would do. In taking the mind of the frightened boy from the prison of life and body, he would give new life within his own mind. A place where he could ‘live’ in dreams, a Golden City, a place where only Zevran would be able to reach him. It was the only way he could ensure that the soul had any true time without pain or suffering. If the Maker were real, the Golden City or the Black City, or anything were real, then Zevran would not worry so. But he feared it was not, the only life people had was what they lived currently. He couldn’t let the child just end, not like that, not when he could give some haven. 

Twadd was worried, _’Can you accomplish this healing? What resources do we have?’_ Catching another small piece as it slipped he looked carefully at it, not believing the horror they were recording, the number of deaths on this man’s hands, the beliefs he held, the deep cracks that ran straight through the brittle stone into his very core. This man had been a rock that had been intensely and repeatedly heated and frozen until he crumbled and peeled away in layers, the pieces crashing and breaking on the rubble below...talus.

 _’I do not know for sure. The frightening thing was that he was close, so close, even with Gaeaf’s torture, to actual progress with Haf’cath...’_ picking up a memory of Ferox gingerly kneeling to lay a large hand atop the head of a blonde haired girl who looked up at him with perfect grey-blue eyes. _’He did this of his own free will...in that moment at least...’_

_’But giving himself to Desire was all wrong, he didn’t understand it, he wasn’t giving himself to belong...it was giving up and accepting death...oh Maker, that’s what he’s been trying to reach this whole time. He was driven to this action. It’s his belief that if he dies in Desire’s sphere of influence that he might finally be accepted. He wonders if it’s his failing to give something, something he held back, that caused himself to be rejected. He doesn’t hear your calls to stop trying to kill himself because his death was what he knew was required...you are only testing him...oh he is frelled. Maker...’_

The mental wail was forcefully contained, though it clawed at his mind and his body, _’I know... Maker, how does Haf’cath even look at Gaeaf now, no I know how he does. Anything can be be forgiven...’_ There was so little good in the memories, and Zevran was going far back, as far as he could, searching for them, to keep them from fading to nothing. _’I can see his logic, I can understand it, but this is... Ani needs to see to him immediately. Varane too, witchy little girl.’_ Though the twins were not little anymore by a long shot. _’Ani can take care of the ink, Varane can deal with the body, we must target the mind and soul.’_

On the outside, he stroked his hands under Ferox’s shirt, feeling the ridges of spine and tough sinew, hoping and praying that in slumber, his touch could be felt and bring comfort. _’It will take time for him to hear, but until then, we must be vigilant. He needs so much...so very much... I do not want to feed his delusions, but maybe in some ways, that might be the only manner to save him.’_

Only when there was some form of legitimate progress could they call upon Dulsanaya if she was not busy, in hopes of preventing her sympathetic nature from turning to rage at what had been done so willfully to the, not innocent per se, but the very vulnerable.

 _’Perhaps if they will not send her, they will allow one of her daughters to be sent...the flower one, she’s a healer too.’_ Rummaging through their own memories he found it, _’Viola, she’s with the Dalish outside of Antiva. It’s said she has many of her mother’s skills and the same markings.’_

Stumbling across a tiny mental pebble, Zevran plucked it up, examining it and turning it to a tome. The image of a small boy borrowing his brother’s clothes - tunic, cloak, boots - and tying it all off with a belt, attaching a dagger to the side, proudly strutting around, bloomed before his eyes. He wanted to be brave just like his big brother, to save and rescue others, guard his vassals, and be strong. But when a little elven boy had broken his leg while they were running around playing in the edges of forest outside the walls, Fergus had run to fetch help, while the baggy clothed Ferox ‘protected’ little Nelaros, keeping him calm with brave words. But he had been startled when they heard sounds - that had been only a deer - but Ferox had whipped out and brandished the dagger, a gift to Fergus from their recently dead grandfather. However the weapon was mistakenly dropped when ‘help’ finally arrived... The images played out, the elven child brought to safety, Ferox preening for the good job he had done, while Fergus was admonished for not having sent swift little Ferox to get help instead, abandoning his role as larger protector. They had been told of the wolves that had been picking off the sheep and Fergus had been told to stay with the boys and let them play outside the walls and then had abandoned them. As punishment Fergus was not allowed to leave the castle and missed his chance to travel to West Hills to see the mabari pups who were ready for Imprinting - to try for one. Later on when it was found out that the knife was gone, missing, Fergus had been mad for weeks and the brothers had fought not just in words but striking out with fists and feet. Drug by the ear to Father’s study, finally ‘peace’ was declared. Not long afterwards a game proposed, the Battle of River Dane reenacted, the great history to be played out once more... 

Tears streamed down Zevran’s face, quietly sobbing as he knew what came next. He lived through being in a box, the strike of a shovel as he was frantically searched for, being aware of his surroundings, but unable to do anything... Until Flemeth came, Zevran knew that’s who it was, but the little Ferox had no clue, only that the abomination had cackled with glee as she saw the damage in his tender mind, playing with it like a toy. She left him functioning, able to walk about and talk, but had done nothing for the _true_ damage, prodding it like it was a game.

 _’That didn’t happen...Nelaros...I ran back, the dagger was never lost...and Horse...Flemeth...’_ Disbelief breathed over his ear, as strong arms wrapped around him. _’And she played with it again after the ogre at the Tower of Ishal...that’s where my headaches come from. I’ll kill her again. I’ll kill her for that.’_

 _’He hurts so bad...’_ unable to stop the outpouring in the real world, curling around the far too thin frame, brokenly weeping, madly wishing his tears could wash the wounds clean. _’Oh my hearts...oh Maker, why?’_

 _’Look at Fergus. There’s no laughing there, no joy... he’s become the serious one, while his brother is - ‘_ there was simply no other term for it, _’ - a deadman.’_

Sitting up, dragging Ferox’s body tight, rocking back and forth, a hand in the soft mahogany waves, “We will save him...we will bring him back to life.”

In the morning, brown eyes had opened at the odd position they were in, Zevran’s back against the bulkhead, supporting Ferox in his arms. His bandaged hand had seeped blood through the blended silk-linen wrappings, but he continued stroking him, cradling him close. The link was open enough to maintain the flow of reassurance and gratitude at his presence, a thin trickle to begin bathing the abscessed wounds of mind and soul.

Kissing the hairline, using simple words and images, “It is very nice to hold you Ferox. I enjoy it very much - does it feel nice for you?”

A nod was had, as his damaged charge rubbed sleep from eyes and covered a yawn. Concentrating and tracking his hands the mind connected to his own began to awaken too, remembering some of the night before, “How are they...your cuts?” Taking his hand, Ferox was intent on removing the bandage to examine the wounds.

“They will not be fully healed quite yet, at least not the deep ones,” letting the hand being held go lax. “I do heal faster and the salve assists also. But my continued heavy use of Taint abilities causes my healing to slow... When we gain Antiva City, my granddaughter will have to stem my own tide slightly. Though mine is not so bad, you will require more focus than me.”

“How long have you been a Warden? Since the Blight?”

It was not an uncommon question, though he could not sense darkspawn. “I am not a Warden. Never has the Joining cup been passed to me. My abilities rise from accessing those who are Wardens and nearby. The captain of this vessel and several others are Wardens. The knack comes from when I was born to some degree.”

Testing the scabs, the youth again made certain that every bit of glass had been removed, that there wasn’t any infection that would indicate a sliver left behind. “I don’t recommend it, drink a little blood, fall down and hit your head...never a good thing,” in any other Ferox it would have been making a joke or deliberately misquoting Alistair, but it was likely this one had no idea. 

“Horse blood does not taste bad and sheep blood makes an excellent pudding when fried and put on a slice of toast, but darkspawn smell so foul... I could never get the taste out of the back of my mouth some days it seemed like,” nodding agreeably as he bent a knee to support Ferox’s side. “ _Querido_ , I want you to know that I truly _am_ happy you are here. Hopefully you will come to believe that, if you believe little else.”

The growl was made noticeable by its return, “So you have said.” Taking the other hand, he began to unwrap the bandages for the same through examination. “I recall there being little choice in my attendance, so there is nothing to appreciate or be thankful for.”

“Yes there is - you are here allowing me to hold you. And so, I will say it and show it each day,” as he brushed the checked hand over a cheek. “Even if you never allow me to hold you again.”

A grunted response was given, not accepting or denying, as fingers and palm were prodded and tested. “Then you slept well and feel better.”

“I did not sleep because I am afraid that you will disappear as you have little wish to be here and would abandon me given a single opportunity... So I was enjoying the moment that you had allowed,” he admitted in part, mentioning nothing of the careful work and storing he had done.

“Very astute, demon.” Satisfied, the other hand was kept and folded with Ferox’s own over a growling stomach.

“We could call for breakfast now if you like,” offering lightly. “It is a shame when we work ourselves to skin and bone but oh so easy to do, this I know - the ability to be fast means we burn through fuel quickly,” not letting him go and instead squeezing him tighter for a moment. “We will eat when you wish to.”

A very Ferox gesture signifying that it was unimportant accompanied a growl of, “Later.” It was possible that this was not unpleasant, but it was doubtful that would be admitted aloud today.

Zevran took to only taking a sip of whatever was on hand to drink, eating and lifting his utensils only when Ferox did the same. If it was noticed, it was left unsaid. Hunger was a beast in his belly, leaving him drained, but Zevran had mastered far worse.

_’You are burning yourself from all ends, Love. This is not required and will not leave you well enough to deal with him.’_

_’I know...’_ Delicately he lifted a too small portion on his spoon of the hearty grain stew, perfectly matching Ferox across from him, urging gently, “Starving us both proves nothing, _querido._ It serves only to leave us both weak. I eat when you eat, I drink when you drink. Nothing that passes your lips, does not pass mine. I will prove to you my commitment, even unto starving myself, even though your body requires fuel, as does mine. Eat, please.”

The eyes did not look up, did not acknowledge the words or the actions. Yes, he finished his bowl, or most of it, but no more was gotten. Even if it was refilled, Ferox showed no interest in it. Sweets like the flan could tempt him into taking a few more bites. In the morning, he would always take a piece of fruit for his pocket, but at the end of the day it was usually still there. Often a hand would slip into that pocket to touch it, however it was unknown if the action was to reassure that it was there or if he was passing a test to leave it where it was.

The third day of this, Zevran reached across the table, laying his hand over Ferox’s. “What can I do to cause you to cease doing harm to yourself? To you and I both, because I have chosen to match your movements? This hurts as though you are stabbing me with this...unneeded resolve. Why do you torture yourself? Why? Is it because Nelaros was hurt? Because you lost your grandfather’s dagger? You are worth more than that...dagger or punishment. You are good and should not be hurt so callously, you are worth so much more. These things you are doing do not prove anything to anyone - they only prove to hurt.”

All movement stopped at the touch and the utensil was carefully set down as if troubled, sure that great harm would be threatened otherwise. Waiting for the flood of words to finally taper off, dread all over every line of his posture, as though sure Zevran would open the connection wide, pouring things that were known to be frightening and discomforting through it, or worse finally shove ‘Wrath’ into his mind. The gaze remained fixed on his hand, waiting to be released.

Instead, Zevran slid his fingers around, curling them to thread their digits together, shifting and lifting, pressing the top of palm to palm. “Ferox, I am not going to hurt you. I am not going to take Twadd from my own mind and thrust him at you like some...weapon. Please, beloved, you have to take care of yourself, I beseech you.”

“I have heard you,” was growled. Nothing promised, nothing offered, as if there was nothing to give.

 _’Forcing him is a last ditch option,’_ sighing as he hung his head, finally relinquishing Ferox’s hand. “I am sorry.”

The spoon was picked back up and Ferox returned to his methodical eating.

_’He eats something at every meal. Does it matter the size of the plate? Or perhaps more frequent meal times would fool him?’_

Rubbing his forehead, Zevran closed his eyes, _’I had not thought of that. We will try tomorrow.’_

However, it was a particularly bad day, the usual attempt at the railing was made, it seemed to be a near daily test to see if it was possible, like a child reassuring himself by making sure that the rules were still in place. The use of blade was also common, the dagger pressed to the heart was easily prevented. That should have been the end of it. The unexpected third time, however was less ‘violent’, trying for a bleed out by seeking to gouge a line from elbow to wrist. Not quick and obvious like his usual attempts, the tripwires in his mind not being triggered by ‘simple’ pain, as Zevran had modified them to allow for it, as the option to punish ‘self’ at will had seemed needed. Distantly he felt the slice and thought little of it, until he felt one at a thigh, alarms going off in his mind that the tripwires had not triggered. Ferox had remained within the parameters. 

Swearing as he felt the sharp blade again, he ordered someone to bring up a hatchet, even as he was trying to pry at the hinges with his tools. The first cut had been twenty minutes ago, Ferox would take at least another thirty to forty to bleed out, even with the gash on his leg, so long as he didn’t move too much and open the wounds. Mentally crashing into the mind, he froze it, refusing to let his boy fight, not this time. Axe found and in hand, as the hinges had refused to come undone, they had been made too well. Hacking from the center, busting a hole after applying all of his muscle to hacking away, large enough for him to force himself through, Zevran saw blood, blood everywhere. Tools and tourniquets passed to him, as he worked frantically, in the desperate bid, thinking of nothing beyond the next stitch, the next tie-down. Once that was secure enough, he dragged Ferox away from the door so that one of his Crows could help him get Ferox back to his cabin, where needles attached to thin tubes that led to leather skins filled with elfroot infused saline mixtures waited to do their work. Dassan’s invention had been used many times, improved, and expanded upon since he had first seen it so long ago, but there was no way to safely match blood yet at this time, no matter that Zevran would willingly pour the last drop of his own if it would save the grey skinned and anguish riddled youth before him.

It was clear when the brown eyes eventually opened with some sign of intelligence behind them, that they were disappointed. Arching over him from where he sat on the side of the bed, Zevran rested his ear over the still beating heart, his voice hoarse, “Why...? Why? _Why_?” Shuddering, “A year - take it, or leave it. If you do not take the year, then I will stop you every single time until you die a natural death, _amora_. Give me a year to change your mind and if that change does not occur, then I will _help_ you be rid of this realm.”

“...not worthy...of...your attention...Desire...choose another. _Please_.” It was the first time the word ‘Please’ had been said. Never a ‘Thank you’, a ‘May I’, or even ‘You’re welcome’. The first time and it was used to beg - and it was a plea he would have to ignore.

Cupping his cheeks, he looked into those eyes, saw the suffering, knew of the suffering already, “You are worthy of so much. So much.” Giving up, Zevran kissed him, opening himself up, giving more than the thin trickle, damning the consequences, and showed the heartbreak at the thought of losing him, showed him the love, the acceptance, the need that was like a need for air, _’I love you too much to ever discard you. I need you. I want you. I love you. There is no one else to choose, or if there is, I cannot see them, all I see is you, because it is you I want.’_ The taste of cool lips, nowhere near as warm as they should be, it would take days, if not weeks to be rid of the forced anemia, even with the life saving potions’ and poultices’ help. _’You are worthy, worthier than I am. To me, you are perfection, **mi corizon**.’_

A startled cry as mental hands were thrown up over the boy’s eyes guarding against the light, expecting the blaze of the inferno to be next, after the taste of sunlight, that knowledge and fear bleeding over, even as the mouth opened beneath him, begging for the succor offered. Zevran slid closer, taking care to not jostle Ferox, gathering him close and safe, giving and giving, the prayer to ease and light the dark paths also a thing shown. The shame at what had been done at the hands of others to make this young one suffer so much, so horrifyingly. He didn’t know how long he continued kissing him, just that it was needed, the same way his own had needed it in the Deep Roads, had needed it other times. So he gave the stroke of his lips, his tongue, over and over, holding him protectively, cherishing each taste and pouring that infinitely precious treasure back into him, showing him repeatedly.

Gradually Zevran slowed, until only a breath separated their faces, “I will not abandon you. I will not forsake you. I cannot give you up without a fight - a fight that I will use tooth and nail and every skill I know to win for our benefit.”

A slight nod rubbed noses. “Then I will not leave.”

Relief flooded him which another kiss poured the thankfulness, his adoration, the morass and tangled skeins of emotion into another long taste. _’Thank you, **querido**.’_

He had known from the memories recorded and kept for Gaeaf and Haf’cath, that regardless of Gaeaf’s best attempts to match what he was given, the man ‘knew’ that he was inadequate to the task. His skills were in other areas, but the supposed lack was a constant ache, like a sore tooth forgotten until bit down upon. Even his own husband discounted his own abilities to show and demonstrate love and care, although from all accounts he was more accepting than Gaeaf. It was a possibility that this Ferox might fall into that same trap. He had few good examples and what little there was had been marked as suspect because the expression of love had been observed after he became a deadman living amongst demons. The goal then would be to build new examples, because while suspect, they would be current. 

Ferox ate when he ate, nearly as much as he ate, even though it was mostly fish stews with hearty grains and the dehydrated vegetables always stocked. Of course the ship’s chickens and the two goats provided fresh milk and eggs, all of these things consumed to replenish lost blood and to help rebuild strength. He knew they would have to guide him, and Zevran slept after spending an hour cataloguing memories, the other cabin that had been meant to give privacy and personal space avoided at all costs. 

It had been made clear that neither were needed or wanted.

A thread of information from one of his Wardens told him that Antiva City was swiftly approaching, waking him from a nap. _’I hope he likes it, **querido**.’_

 _’We’ll see one way or the other and deal with that too. On the plus side, however, I think you’ve made some progress with scent.’_ Pointing out that Ferox was pressing his face to Zevran’s neck in his sleep. _’So he just has to get really close to smell something...you know, you could share senses and give him a real whiff.’_

Stroking the cheek to bring him towards wakefulness, _’He is overwhelmed easily, though apparently, sometimes that is what he wants.’_

_’So you noticed he was wearing your tunic yesterday under his own?’_ Teasing laughter. _’If you weren’t so intent on bulking him up, you could share closets with him.’_

A kiss was brushed over the brow, _’His ribs poke me, that is not healthy... He probably pads his armour! Ugh, it is bad that my waist is bigger around than his... The shoulders need to be loosened for him if that is the route he wishes to go.’_ Lips quirking at the image, _’But there is much where that does not matter and he can crawl into my things the way the children did when little. It is sweet - he is like a kitten...’_

_’Oh I assure you, we’re all mabari, or wolves...no cats here except for you.’_

_’Shh, I am imagining a puffy tail and quirky ears and purring, **querido** ,’_ teasing in turn. 

_’What were those racing dogs the real skinny ones with the really long legs?’_

_’Rivainian greyhounds,’_ he supplied. _’Though Nune would be more familiar with mountain breeds than I, so he might correct me in my thought that he resembles the ghosthounds that some of the hunters have.’_

_’He’s fast and skinny and definitely a sight hound, I bet he’s good with a bow. Might be the first of us to give a Nathaniel a run for their money.’_

Against him Ferox shifted sleepily and Zevran quickly supplied the morning taste and reassurance, _’He needs more back muscle for that, **amante.** When he is at full strength? Oh yes, yes he likely could.’_

 _’I thought I saw one...FarSong... in his belongings.’_ A dark thought was sent regarding how that bow was acquired based on the stories, followed the feeling of a mental shrug. _’But you’re right, fatten him up first or he’ll never be able to pull it. Not anymore at least.’_

Shaking arms wrapped around Zevran as Ferox clutched against him, weary need mixed with fear of being torn or forced away, which he did his best to give security against. Reminding his husband gently, _’His issues and actions are partially his responsibility, however, you know that in his place, you would have been the same. It is not ours to judge.’_

_’Love, you’re reminding the wrong Ferox.’_

_’I know, and if I ‘see’ Gaeaf, he will receive an earful, one that Haf’cath would not give,’_ as he waited for Ferox to gain his fill of the salve that his Twadd had always called the taste of sunlight. Sending to the youth as a plaintive sound issued, _’Shh, it is alright, I am here. You are not going anywhere without me at your side. It is time to awaken, your new home is on the horizon. It is beautiful and you should see it.’_

Sand pulled from eyes, “What are you waiting on?” The mumbled question one of the confirmations needed to see if he was still wanted. 

“I did not wish to leave your presence,” as he sat up, stretching. “You should see the view and I wanted it to be together.”

Curling around his back, arms around his waist, “We have seen many cities on this route. You have not said why this one’s different.”

“Because it is Antiva City and it is our home,” as he reached down to run a hand along the lanky side. “The other places are for visiting at other times, but this is our home - _our_ home. You, me, us.”

“Very well,” the acceptance growled and rolled to his feet.

_’Shall we take bets on when the first rumble is heard?’_

Kicking his tunic up from the floor and pulling it on seamlessly before he stepped up to wrap his arms around Ferox, as he chuckled at the stiffening. A faint tremor came as Zevran pressed his cheek against chest, the action garnering swift reaction of what he knew was a pleased, if taken aback, rumble, _’No, because they are starting right now.’_

Joyful laughter was for his mind alone.

Coming up on deck and making their way to the railing, Ferox stopped moving, slamming to a halt. The bay was spread out before them, the harbour being swiftly closed in on, but it was the city that held his attention. From where they were it was a rapidly growing series of crystal coloured and white buildings at first, or that was what Zevran knew Ferox could see. In his eyes he could see much more, the jewel bright tones being picked up much sooner.

Taking the long hand in his, “Would you like to see it as sharply as I do? I can share my sight with you just as I share your headache.”

“What? Wait...” Forehead furrowed and Ferox made an almost rapid decision for him, “Yes.” 

Easing the overlay, so that no fresh headache was gained from the swift change of clarity, Zevran squinted, bringing the capitol of his homeland into focus. Even for him when he did that, often the view would jump forward, a mild shift in focus granting him the rainbow buildings - all shades possible from the primary colours known to all mankind, mixed in with whitewash on other places. It was a glittering pile of gems, gilt in white gold stucco, juicy shades everywhere in the panoramic view, offset by the protective arms of the small mountains, curling their way to into the water, making the perfect harbour. An earthquake in the last forty years had caused damage that was quickly rebuilt and repaired, turrets everywhere, the glass or glazed tile of roofs picking up and casting the light of the sun back, magnified over and over again. A sea of masts above the water, a sea of them below the clear bay, some recent from the Qun’ari’s last attempts, battlements held ballestae, catapults, trebuchets, enormous harpoon and grappling rigs, a few precious cannons, their development hard won. Black powder was known, but Antivans eschewed its weapon’s properties except during war, the secrets only held within the Guild. Not even the scars and blackened spots from the recent attack marred the vision, strangely making it evermore lovely.

Gently tugging Ferox to the prow, his arm slid around the narrow waist, “What do you think of my fair city now that you can see it, _amora_? Of course as we approach we will both be able to pick out more details...but from here it is pretty, is it not?”

It was difficult to choose which reaction occurred first the shaking or the sudden rage followed by the dive into temperatures where no movement could be had. Turning from the city, Ferox snarled, “Demon, you should give me that headache back now.”

Squeezing the hand held in his, Zevran kept himself serene and composed, “Tell me why, _querido_ , and I will.”

“You’ve put me through this once and I’ll not be tricked again. Give it back so there is time to bear it.” 

“It is not a trick, nor have I done this to you before, Ferox. What happened to you last time was because that was not your body, yours,” touching his chest with his offhand over the scars, “had to heal. That is what I believe happened.” Spreading his fingers out, the habit gained from the little healer, “You will not be abandoned, forsaken, torn away from me, you will not die alone in the dark, you will not be left unloved, unwanted.” Lowering his voice, “You said you would remain with me and so you will. But if you wish to have the pain back, you may have some of it. Your burdens will not be left unshared.”

His hand slid up over the stark lines of chest to cup Ferox’s jaw, pulling him down so that he could pass some of the pain back, that thing he had been carrying for weeks, but he also once more poured sunlight, reassurance, everything that was wanted and needed, that which Ferox was too afraid to ask for. _’You are loved - I love you.’_

Shaking which had been nearly held by the frozen anger broke free, “No, no, no, no. I have been here before. Don’t do this again. Don’t say that again. I can’t do it again! No more! Please...no more!” Teeth chattering, fists, arms, legs, his entire body shook, having imported a Ferelden winter day.

“Ferox - look at me,” firmly as he moved to support him. “Look at me. There, yes, very good,” the brown eyes were wild, but they focused on him. Repeating very slowly, “You are loved and I love you. We are going home together. Where we will reside and work and be together. Nothing will separate us - not even when your body fails you from age, if that is your wish. If something happens to me, you will be provided for - you will not be abandoned. Not ever again, not so long as I have breath, and even if I do not.”

“I am not worthy of this - ”

“ _I_ decide if you are worth it to me and you are,” it was easy to maintain that strength, for this, he could do it easily. It was the sort of thing that even his beloved Twadd had needed to hear, just as he himself had needed to hear it. “To me, you are worth it. That is why you are here.”

A quick look over his shoulder, a man catching sight of the gallows, where a noose waits with his name on it, Ferox dropped to his knees and flung his arms around him holding on tightly, fear coming off him in waves. Cradling the dark head to his stomach, Zevran left some of the pain as he had promised, but continued the flow, bolstering and reassuring how he could. He hadn’t thought that catching sight of Antiva City would cause such a reaction - it was certainly the most beautiful city he had ever seen, but he was biased. An Orlesian he had met once claimed it was too colourful and that only the rich should have access to such vibrancy. Some Fereldens had called it garish, while Rivainians thought it too crowded and big. Tevinters wanted more height, towers to rise on every corner to raise them above the ‘filthy rabble’ below. Dalish, _Ga’hals_ and Arlathanlen felt it to be too closed in, too many buildings, not enough trees or mountains or wide spaces... His sweet Twadd thought it lovely and bewildering. What then did this poor boy think of it to gain such a reaction?

Stroking his crown, soothing, “It is alright, Ferox. You will not be taken away or rejected. It is safe. I will keep you safe.”

 _’For someone who hasn’t really traveled, not even to Orlais, how did he get here without our finding that memory?’_ his husband began to check what they had gathered from this broken mind. After a few minutes there was a tug, _’Look at this.’_ Showing a memory that Ferox had picked up that didn’t seem to fit anywhere. _’Familiar? Some of those buildings gone and replaced, here and there. What would you say that is?’_

Frowning as he examined it, _’Antiva City... Their Antiva City. But he never - ah...Gaeaf. Showing him all of that...taunting him. Punishing him for something he could not help! It was not as though Cyni sought to usurp Gaeaf’s body or his place!’_ Angry, _’In some ways he is worse than this pitiful child. He was an adult and bombarded this boy... Knowing full well what he was doing would break him further. It will be a long time before I would be willing to speak with him.’_

Slowly sinking down to Ferox’s level, “Ferox, the place we are going, it is similar to what Gaeaf showed you, yes. It is the Antiva City of my realm. Much of what he showed you is there no longer. My Zama, she is dead and gone, though I am sure she would have loved to meet you, and cared for you just as she did Twadd. Even if you would be difficult, she was a very loving woman. My daughter, Ani, she looks much like her. She will treat you gently and kindly. Helion, Bryce, Varane, Fymie - they will be there. Well, it depends on if they are riding post or not...”

A confession was given, “I saw the Zama Demon with her red hair...she called me by name.”

“She did that when Working her magic, she was helping to set things right,” as he smoothed the cheeks, lifting Ferox’s face from where it hid in his neck. “If she knew it would thrust you back so suddenly, I doubt it would have been an action taken. Not until it was shown and explained to you what was happening so that you would understand and be prepared.” Brushing his mouth against his, “No Zama would willingly do harm unless it was in defense. Part of being what she was, was to love all things, even those things that many hate. _Ga’ni shedu’ni_ love one and all, no matter what.”

Whispering, choking on the words, “Words were said, I..didn’t, couldn’t hear them. She, you...too bright... So bright...”

He did not care that his men saw them, they were loyal to him personally, groomed through the ranks and years, as loyal as any of his slaves from his plantation. They would say nothing of this display, those who had seen him with Twadd knew it was natural for him to react to the needs of a loved one. “Oh, my young one, I am sorry that it was so... So sorry,” heartbreak for what had been suffered and inflicted unwittingly to such a vulnerable person. One who had few defenses left, to be treated so, even though the intent had been good... “So sorry, _mi hermoso corizon. Mi precioso..._ my beautiful heart, my precious one. So sorry...I would undo all that had happened to you if I could, but then you would not be here with me, you would be with Haf’cath... Even though you would hopefully be at peace and content. But I can swear that it will not happen again, unless you go to Kirkwall without me and leave without someone from my realm.”

The shaking and fear slowly stilled unlike the snap of anger that had been raised in an instant then had been broken by the swamping terror. He assured that the City was a place he had come and gone from many times, and that if something happened, Ferox could return if he left for any reason so long as he had someone from this Thedas to take him there. Ferox did not move or look again until a few hours later when the ship nudged gently into the bumpers hung on the pilings of the private dock. When that happened, his trunk and Ferox’s packs were already on deck, waiting, just as the carriage was waiting patiently. It was loaded up while he and Ferox climbed into the open conveyance.

Taking his hand, “We go to a place you may have seen, but it is different, as this realm is different than the one you were shown, _querido._ My family is moderately sized, so the townhouse that belonged to my Zama was modified to accommodate. Gwyr will be there, but usually whenever a return trip happens, she leaves well enough alone for a day. That will give me time to speak with her.”

There was a silent nod of agreement, one that was given when Ferox was uncertain but was trusting. There were many things seeking the boy’s attention, but the hand in his gripped tightly. At last Ferox blurted out, “I don’t know all of these colours and never imagined so many.”

The image of a turquoise door was shared with amusement by his husband.

“Be glad I am not sharing the full spectrum of my vision,” manfully fighting off a laugh and instead teasing gently, sending his love to his husband, who always had a turquoise door on their homes. Excluding Zama’s, but their bedroom door was turquoise at least. “The first time I did that with Twadd, I thought he would get a nosebleed trying to figure out which colour was which... ‘Is this turquoise, electric blue, ‘periwinkle’ or some other colour of really, really, _really_ bright blue with a horrific name like ‘clamshell’?’ When he found out that there truly _is_ a colour called ‘clamshell’ - it is a grayish purple - I thought he would choke on his tongue. _Shemlen_ eyes have a harder time with nuance I have found.”

The cheek twitched on the Ferox next to him while the laughter of the other filled his mind.

_’You have gotten him to rumble, I bow to the master. But, how long until we see a real grin or hear a laugh, I wonder?’_

Basking in the presence within his mind, curling up with him companionably, within the library of his brain they had made, _’Oh to me this is laughter. For someone who has not expressed anything in so very, very long...this is as loud as Eleanor and Elissa attacking us with kisses on a Saturnalia morning while squealing and jumping on the bed.’_

 _’I love the way you think.’_ A contented sigh. _’I’d carry you on my shoulders off to my room, if you’re free later.’_

 _’We will certainly have to make time,’_ purring, the requirements of their body having been ignored since Ferox’s last attempt on his life.

_’I hate to speak too soon, knowing your simply awesome skills, but he is very dependent...I don’t know who you are going to be able to hand him off to.’_

Snorting, _’Flatterer. Ah, worse comes to worse I will simply explain that I require...an hour? If he wishes to be present he can be, but I do not want him to feel pressured. Besides, it has been ages since I have felt you sliding around in my mind...and other places...’_

 _’Funny, I’ve been very entertained by these ears, or at least my favourite one,’_ teasing back. Warmth at his side, just keeping him company as they made their way through the massive City to a certain crimson door.

Two of the guards that had accompanied them unobtrusively unloaded and opened the door for Ferox and himself, depositing their belongings before leaving. Several small little ones raced past, one minus her clothes, as Ani chased after them, scolding all three lightly, her red hair bound back from her face, and hoisting the streaker, up for clothes, she nodded to him, the look promising proper greetings later. 

_’Looks like someone takes after me...’_ snickering as he tugged shoes off to set them on the rack at the door, the example followed as boots were removed. One of Ferox’s packs in hand, “Come, let us go to our room, do not worry over my trunk that can be dealt with later... I have lived here so long that a single trunk is not going to make or break my collection...” Calling out to the house as he maintained his grip on Ferox’s hand, pulling him through the townhouse. “Someone give a knock when there is food, we are famished! A platter would be welcome!” 

“How many are here again?” Looking up at the ceiling of the atrium.

Counting as they gained the stairs, “It rotates between seventeen of us if one counts the littlest members, though usually no more than five or six of us reside here at a time for long periods. However,” reassuring him quickly, “this place is nearly double the size it was when Twadd and I returned from Ferelden. If it makes you more comfortable, I do own the place next door also, and a door could easily be put through the walls to allow us access to this house, but give us more privacy.”

Unlike the others of his namesake, this one, other than with his own Zevran, had never said that any of them talked too much. On the surface, he let the words flow around him. However receiving the information that the house was not full of people, the shoulders relaxed slightly. It had not gone unnoticed that they had nearly drawn themselves to his ears when the children had streaked through - nor had the freezing in place. Considering the reception given by Gaeaf’s Ferelden it may have been understandable, but this Ferox had children of his own, ones that had been placed with his brother, Fergus. It was readily apparent that he had not spent time with them other than a single visit, demanded by propriety and a twinge of curiosity.

_’No dogs...hounds, children...what’s next? Horses? At least he already likes the food. Love, you really need to have a checklist when bringing people in off the streets to adopt.’_

Showing Ferox where to place his things, room had been made before he even set out on the ship, rolling his eyes, _’Well as I have not ever done such a thing, you will have to forgive me for being mildly unprepared...’_

Snickering laughter, _’I’ll have to work a form for that as you’ve got plenty of room for more out at the plantation.’_

 _’That can be seen to soon enough, for now we need access to healers to work on his Taint and this skull crushing pain.’_ Kissing Ferox swiftly, “I am going to go grab some food for us, but it might be crowded down below, so you may wish to wait here. Is that agreeable?”

“Yes,” eyeing the netting over the bed, he asked. “Do you fish?”

Pausing at the door, “ _Noo...._ but Nune does - oh, ah. The netting? It keeps biting bugs back when sleeping at night. It is not used unless the windows are open.” Tapping the glass globes that had been in place for so long, “The frostrock trick I mentioned? The one with helping keep cool? These are what allow the room to be more pleasant for your Ferelden blood. Because Nune is here frequently in the house also, the whole house is covered with them at this point other than the nursery. When the babies get hot, we put some in there. Also the box beneath the bed has more frostrock, like on the ship. Just tell me if you get cold or too hot and we can adjust how things are placed...”

Another nod as Ferox processed the information, “I am fine and will not leave.”

_’He will not disappear just because you need to kiss our babies for me. I have a question though, according to his memories, and what we picked up from others, he’s supposedly quite crude...I can’t imagine Anora washing his mouth with soap. And on another subject if he actually saw Zama-mama, did she make children possible?’_

Vaulting the banister to land in the main atrium, _’I do not know if it is possible to heal across realms like that, **amora**. It is possible that it was so, but he would have only had a few years to stew in the Taint. Three at most when Anora got with child.’_

_’True or perhaps other assistance. Gaeaf didn’t start until late, perhaps that limited the options.’_

_’From whomever healed his body in his old realm,’_ agreeing.

There was an angry growl at the thought, _’Don’t tell me Flemeth got her hands on him again...I don’t want to know that, or you’ll have to hold me back from pulling out the old armour.’_

Thinking as they went about their little greetings and lots of kisses, gathering a platter up, while Varane remained pressed to him, pushing back the Taint with a bloodied palm at the base of his spine, singing, _’I had not thought of that... That too is possible. However I was thinking that it was likely to be the Lady of the Forest.’_

_’He did support the Werewolves. Very possible. Probable. Well, that idea doesn’t make my...err your flesh crawl. Ah, Varane, my girl, my thanks’_

The message passed along with a kiss, information that the one brought would need much healing, that something caused massive pain in one side of the head, Zevran made the rest of their hellos. “He will need quiet to settle, children frighten him, Ani.”

“Frighten...? What happened to him?” the power that hung around her was the same comforting weight his Zama had worn, but modified with her own self and lack of mage talent. “I will see if the other rooms could be cleared out in the back floor. Or I can move my things to another side. Leave this front floor empty.”

_’Kiss her cheek and interrupt her for me. It is too much and he will not be comfortable if everything is moved and he discovers it. That I know. Gaeaf knew when others were displaced for his sake and this one is worse.’_

Doing as bid, “A moment, _mushu_ , your father has a point to make. He does not like excess effort put into things for him, it is just as jarring and uncomfortable as children. Let him find his place, but keep the littles from pestering the new addition.”

“Small is the way to start then,” she gave a shrug and nod, another kiss to each cheek. “I love you Papi, Father. It is good your hunt was fruitful, wounded animal or not, he can be rehabilitated.”

 _’We’ll see.’_ Twadd, although hopeful, was not certain. As they climbed the stair, his husband pointed out a shadow above them returning to their room. _’Your boy had to keep you in his sights or just within range of being able to hear your voice.’_

Zevran said nothing, grunting quietly, finding that the sole action there was probably the best sign they would ever seen to prove that yes, the battered soul could be healed.

In the warm Antivan night - hot by Ferelden standards, but the bedroom was gloriously cool - Ferox was curled and twisted around Zevran, face pressed tightly to the side of his neck. In light of the tension pouring off of him, he hadn’t had the heart to ask for an hour with Twadd. Closing his eyes, Zevran breathed deep, blending both mental senses with physical, even though it made his body ache terribly. 

_’This is going to be a dry spell...’_ seeking to not sound petulant, burrowing into the strong arms a near-pout on his face, while the slender arms around his bare chest tightened at his slightest movement.

 _’I know where the lever is and am happy to assist,’_ teasing even as hands were raised in surrender nowhere near the pleasure center of his brain. _’I would point out that he does seem to worship you...’_

It was a tempting sentiment, _’He is so delicate... This is new and frightening for him, **amora**. The last time he went through this much upheaval with someone saying he could trust them... Look what happened.’_

_’I see it. I would point out that Anora was between as well as several years. In addition, he’s had a Rory and even Leliana. Yes, today was stressful but if he doesn’t relax, something is going to snap.’_

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, _’A good wake-up might be interesting... But the question is, will it help him relax?’_

His husband pointed out encouragingly, _’He was going to give up his soul for you, or what he thinks was you. It’s doubtful you’ll be rejected. And if it doesn’t relax him, perhaps a hot soak - might want to avoid the noise of your public baths.’_

 _’Which would be why there are four bathrooms at this point... Aiee, Sa’id would be rolling around in a grave if we buried our dead...’_

Gingerly Zevran slowly shifted in Ferox’s arms who was as tangled as any pile of string, bent at all sorts of strange angles to get close. Twadd had become a cuddler rather quickly, but it seemed Cyni either had been made that way or chose it due to how uncomfortable the Ferox-back found it. Zevran didn’t mind at all, it was just very different - normally it was himself warning others that he slept like that, as he put it ‘plastered’, onto his bedmates. 

_’Did he not like bathrooms? Or the sheer number is extravagant?’_

_’The number of people,’_ laughing. _’All these children racing about... You know this - I had said he only expanded the townhouse so that there would be room for me to be added in. He thought that my little self would need running around space... But I was sold to the Crows before he could snap me up. The man detested children. In general at least. Cyni is merely terrified of them. Detest versus terror, I am not sure which is worse. Cyni is terrified he will hurt them. The lesson of Len and the others was learned far too well...’_

_’I still can’t see that it was his fault, a situation beyond his control, no experience with children...or what he thought might be children, true very passive but… I am not unsympathetic, but to lay the entire blame on his head is wrong.’_

Beginning slowly with a hand wormed under the light tunic, _’Yes, it is. Gaeaf is an adult. Ferox is a child in many ways emotionally. Yes, he has done many bad things, things I find deplorable. Then again, so has Gaeaf. So have I. Likely, I have done more horrid things, ordered them done, committed to them, so on, so forth... Yet I do not feel like I am a bad man, or like Gaeaf is one, or even Cyni. Truthfully, you are the best out of all of us.’_

 _’And yet I have caused many deaths by omission...the situation we are trying to correct.’_ Impossibly, memories mixed and combined so that it felt that Twadd was running five or six of his hands over his back and sides, tracing lines, spine, and ribs.

 _’You cannot blame yourself for that, **amora**. Besides, things cannot be perfectly balanced across the board. Someone, somewhere, is going to suffer. Sometimes one person, sometimes a few, sometimes many. If you wish to blame someone, blame the Qun’ari - is it not they who started this war?’_ Gently he pressed a kiss to a high cheekbone, then over closed lids, while Ferox made tiny noises, nearly infantile. _’Wonder of wonders - he does not snore!’_

 _’You were too tired to notice earlier. I thought I’d leave that nugget for you to discover,’_ amusement rumbled and a kisses were pressed along his spine in addition to the continued petting.

Treating his husband to the same touches, _’Mmmn, perhaps my head was merely filled with your own comforting and familiar song?’_ There was further humour and Zevran was ‘punished’ by a teasing tongue against his ear. In his arms, Ferox sleepily fought to get closer, and he dipped his head to catch hold of an upper lip, sucking it between his with a soft hum. _’Ferox...wake up my sweet.’_

As the boy’s hand unerringly reached for a weapon, eyes flew open, alert but not in the true sense ‘awake’. After a slow blink, his face found in the ‘friendly demon’ category, or probably as friendly as demons were in that broken mind, Ferox’s guard eased and returned to the actual waking stages to rub sleep from the corner of an eye. “Wha...?” It seemed, after several mornings had been observed that the growl that was his voice took longer to wake than the rest of him. Usually a short sentence or two first thing could be completely without, provided nothing provoked it into rising early.

Kissing him once more, he nuzzled at him warmly, keeping his touch soothing, “You are very much desired, _amora._ ”

“Why?” even as the automatic question was asked, an actual hand joined the mental ones to touch him, resting on his shoulder blade, it was a suggestion of keeping him close.

With a firm stroke over the line of spine, “This is a question I have heard before and the answer is no less difficult to explain. It is little things that add up, I cannot point to a solitary action or a look and say ‘this is why you are wanted’, because that does not encompass it fully. It is not anything I can simply sum up. Your scent soothes me, your touch makes me feel good, your presence makes me feel whole, alive, real. Yes, yes there is the fact that you are Ferox and my own Ferox - Twadd - is only contained within me. The love and affection I bear him does bleed over to you.” Following that statement with a hand roving between them so that he could feel the lines of flesh, the link open and inviting, demonstrating these things along with the words, “You are yourself, but you are also him, and he is you - this influences my feelings. It would be a lie to say otherwise. In time I will love you entirely for yourself, rather than the opened door Twadd granted. Yet, you are not a replacement, you are yourself, and worthy on your own. Does this make any sense to you?”

 _’I think you could say nearly anything and he would agree, as long as you use that tone of voice, Love. It’s never about the words with him, but then I love your voice too.’_ The expected nod was given by the youth. _’Even the words he saves aren’t what I’d expect a...’normal’ person to keep. He always hears the questions, probably because the change in tone when a question rises or falls, more than usual, and draws his attention. He notices lists, if each thing isn’t long or doesn’t have a long explanation. Emotion always gets his attention, probably why he heard nearly every word from Gaeaf and, guessing from the holes in his conversations with Haf’cath, lost most of what he had to say...the more important things.’_ Twadd’s hands moved over his back, unseen by anyone, but not unfelt. _’Who can say for certain, but these things seem to be common in what memories he’s kept...or more accurately, that we’ve been able to salvage. I would hazard a guess he’s thrown out everything regarding comfort he gives you, just because it counts himself as worthwhile. And the words said while you touch him are probably more easily remembered than the rest because he’s focused,’_ pressing a kiss to the base of his spine.

 _’Auck, men can be so difficult sometimes,’_ humming at the touch. Gently nipping Ferox’s shoulder, “Also, it does not hurt that you are very easy on the eyes.”

Even if gaze could not be met, attention had been gained. “I look like someone you know. So you have said,” the growl had settled in, 

Sighing, “Some. The...the same base, but not the same. Ah - like a tunic! A tunic is a tunic, can be made from the same cut, but different fabric, different size. That is what it is like. You look similar, but not. Or a dagger - different smith, different materials, but the same base, will make a different dagger, yes?”

“Daggers are different, even matching ones,” making the connection at least in a limited sense. 

“ _Yes_ , that is exactly it,” embracing him tighter. “You and he are matching daggers - similar, not the same.”

“No.” Maintaining the thought, “Wrath had a big sword - it was a very large Starfang. He was _very_ different.”

Nodding, “As was Twadd. But he came here and...he said he reforged himself. Gaeaf - Wrath - he did not adapt. Here, a moment, let me show you.” Disentangling himself quickly, he relit one of the small oil lamps, and grabbed the swordcase from beneath the bed. Plunking it atop the mattress, he scooted after it, and opened it. “See? These were one. One very large Starfang. When we came here to Antiva City, he gave up his heavy plate, wore leathers and chain, yes? It is easier with the climate. Starfang was too big, too heavy, useless in the weather we have here. Twadd had Starfang made into these, changed his armour, he changed. He re-forged himself. Gaeaf did not.” Snorting faintly, “Gaeaf was like a very large and slightly fat mabari. Twadd was more a lean mabari. You remind me of the mountain ghosthounds - large, very lean, very fast, very quiet.”

Pushing up to sit crossed-legged on the mattress, Ferox watched closely. The light caught the blades and his attention as Zevran reverently tugged a scabbard free. “Dryden did not make that one,” reaching out to run a finger on the flat of the blade. 

“Mikhal made the original. This one was reforged, remade to suit Twadd and our changed locale. Our changed lives,” he nodded. Laying a hand on a knee, “In Ferelden, as a Warden, he wore heavy plate, wielded a heavy sword, the burden great and making his heart heavy too. When we came here, the burden was lifted, but the heavy sword and the heavy plate could no longer serve him. So he _changed_ it, _amora_.” Twisting to lay the sword over Ferox’s knees, “This was reforged by a Crow master smith. It was quenched in a mix of Zama’s, my own, and Twadd’s blood along with the water. To imbue change and be a symbol of rebirth.”

Lifting it, a hand on the hilt, the other under the blade, the weight was tested. “It is heavier than my own...but then mine is heavy now too.” A shoulder rose slightly, an almost shrug as if acknowledging that he had harmed himself without admitting it in words.

Gliding the back of his knuckles over a cheek, “You need to regain your health. That will help fight the Taint. The blood may have been replenished, but there are many essences that help a body run and you have gone too long with keeping yourself from what your body requires.” Taking the firm chin in hand, Zevran tilted it towards him, so he could press his mouth to Ferox’s, “We will go slow.”

Releasing the hilt, a steel chilled palm skirted up his side before pulling him closer. The mouth opened to his, hungry for the flavour that Twadd referred to as ‘spicy sunlight’. When the initial craving was satisfied, the kiss was broken as Ferox pulled back, “I don’t break easily.”

 _’If I didn’t know better, I’d say he just flirted with you,_ chuckled Twadd and a cheek plump with a grin was pressed to his other shoulder blade.

 _’Why, I do believe you just might be right,’_ smiling for Twadd and Ferox both. “Which is good, even if I have absolutely no intention of breaking you ever.” He took Twadd’s twin Starfangs and put them away lovingly, and blowing out the lamp, before hopping back on the bed exuberantly, bouncing faintly. “Mmn, as I said earlier, you are desired...”

“So you have said,” in the dim for _shemlen_ eyes, the cheek twitched. 

Unable to stop himself from pouncing - he did hold himself back, just a little - Zevran scuttled into Ferox’s lap, arms wrapping around him. “Just reiterating in case you might have missed it, _amora._ ”

“I did not.” The embrace was returned tightly and the little scent that could be ‘tasted’ was inhaled. Ferox nosed against his temple, where the reduced and shared ache resided and lightly laid a kiss there. It appeared to be recognition of not only where the pain lay but that it was shared...a ‘thank you’ that his boxed in youth was capable of ‘saying’. 

He assisted in the removal of the two tunics worn to bed, never saying or mentioning the fact that the one beneath was one of his own. The second shirt was in hand, the smell so welcome and familiar, that Zevran had to pause, eyes slipping closed, hands bringing the silk to his nose and inhaled deeply. Releasing a faint growl, he rubbed it over his cheek, just revelling for a moment in the combination that had been absent from his world for so long. Leaning to sniff the fabric as well, it was plain that Ferox only smelled him and thought his behaviour odd even though no comment was made.

Clearing his throat that was tight with nostalgia and desire, “I can smell us both on it, it smells good, _querido_.” He pressed his cheek to the fabric once before setting it aside, “Like the sharing earlier of my vision, I could let you smell what I smell.” Lips twitching as he ran a finger over the familiar shape of nose, which was also different, _Matching daggers indeed._ “I have been told that the difference is night and day from smelling me without the assistance versus with.”

“You already smell good. How could you smell better?” Distracted by his hand, Ferox caught it and looked closer, turning and examining it. Even in, what for the human would be little light, something had been noticed, so he spread his fingers, waiting for the inspection to be finished. “When you lost your Wra...husband, you took off the ring?” Rubbing fingers around the digit, “No. There is no mark here.”

“As has been said before, that was Haf’cath and Gaeaf,” he reminded gently. “I still have Twadd’s mark,” Zevran twisted enough to show the underside of his tricep, the ink spreading into his armpit - one of the few places that had been untouched by ink. It had also _hurt_ , even with Zamitie’s skill. “I have different scars than Haf’cath.” Reaching back he tapped the mark from the claws of a snowcat, then poked a few small dips on his buttocks. “A snowcat - you know the great beasts from the Uncharted Territories? - decided I needed a hug near Soldier’s Peak because it was damnably cold. I agreed so I have its pelt for a cloak.” Each time a mark was pointed out, naturally tan fingers followed his own and traced them while the dark head nodded, seeing the differences. “I am not Haf’cath, we are like matching daggers - he asked me to watch for you, _querido._ You were _not_ abandoned or rejected or unwanted.” Taking his chin, bringing the face up so he could see the eyes focus, “Haf’cath has worried about you a long time. He hurt that he could not keep you with him.”

A noncommittal noise. “I wanted to stay...” Ferox paused, frowning. It was obvious that he was not done and Zevran let him think without interruption, his thumb tracing a small divot of a scar. Fingers continued to identify scars and tattoos on his back and chest by touch alone. The words were eventually unearthed, “Not with Wrath. I couldn’t -” Decidedly, as Ferox’s fingers stopped moving and held still where they rested against his skin, while the brown eyes stopped flicking away and back, and focused on his face, “ - Not with Wrath there, but I was going to try. I thought that was why the Zama came - so I could give my soul. She knew everything and knew I couldn’t stay with Wrath - I thought the deadman would be removed from my mind.” A slight shake of the head, almost disbelief and a great undercurrent of shame around the eyes at what came next, “It was _I_ who was removed. I was not worthy.” 

Zevran hadn’t considered that possible thought process. He began to speak, going so far as to part his lips before he had to shake his head and settle back in Ferox’s lap, thinking. “He was there first. It was his body. He had worked very hard to build that life and it was a life he had wanted from the start.” His hands passed over Ferox’s face, hoping his words got through. “Gaeaf belonged there. Please listen, I know this is difficult, _amora._ It is important. You would not have fit in that place. The space was too heavy for you there. Plans there could not be altered to make it fit you. A massive fighter’s body is not for you. It does not fit. It could not be _made_ to fit.” Voice cracking, “There is a very big difference between ‘worth’ and ‘fit’.” Sending an image of a child’s socks, “I could not put these on. They would not fit. That was that place and time. You could not fit into that setting. _It does not mean you were unworthy._” Every ounce of conviction, even pulling out the pain Haf’cath had shown him, the thing that had been hidden from Gaeaf, “ _This_ is what Haf’cath felt when you were sent back to your own body. He felt he had failed you when we heard stories of you from Kirkwall.” Brushing hair from broad temples, “As soon as I heard there was another Ferox, I wished to meet you. When I was shown and told what had happened... Room was made, room was created, because this time, this time it was made so that you could fit.”

 _’Gaeaf would not want to share Haf’cath, you know,’_ Twadd murmured. _’I think he only shares now because he is secure, knowing his place with Haf’cath cannot be taken.’_

 _’Maker, I know...’_ “Even if it had been Haf’cath waiting for you, you would still have had to share with Gaeaf in some ways. And that would not have been easy. Twadd is...different. He understands and accepts. He knows you are not a threat to what he and I have. He is not afraid of losing my love just because there is another to also love.” His lips pressed themselves over different areas of Ferox’s face, “Hopefully you can grow to care for me also, in spite of me not being Haf’cath.”

Ferox did not resume his movements as he restated very purposefully of his intentions, “I have said that this could be the second or third attempt, I don’t know and I don’t care. I have already opened my hand and made an agreement with you. It doesn’t matter which one you say you are, as the choice has been made. I will not leave.”

Unbraiding Ferox’s hair slowly, so he could drag his fingers through it, “I understand.” The acceptance of the words must have granted liberation as the idle hands resumed their explorations of his skin.

Even though he didn’t, not really. There had been no agreement, the only one he had offered was a desperate plea to buy time to convince him to stop seeking death, which was a thing never taken. Any agreement given was to something else, likely with the belief that the cost was a soul that had been clung to. Zevran did not wish to take Ferox’s soul, perhaps much later, when time and Taint had ravaged his body, then Ferox would be content to share a body with he and Twadd. Nor did Zevran believe these things damned any of them. If the Maker was real, He had given the world, and those in it, capabilities what He created - and since He had abandoned them all, the creation had grown up and gone its own way. They made their own Golden and Black Cities and had no need for a thankless, uncaring and cold Maker.

Stretching to make his spine crack and show off for Ferox’s benefit, he loosened his own braid, letting the hair slowly spill, the triple-folded braid worked free in a cascade. He so rarely let it down, truly only to wash it or if the braid got _too_ messy. Ferox’s eyes widened slightly as swaths slithered over an arm as he worked it out, fingers combing through it when he felt a small knot. He missed when Twadd would brush it, Zamitie’s admonishment for him to stop ‘cutting off’ his power had been taken to heart. That didn’t mean it wasn’t a pain in the ass to deal with. Unlike Ani or Zamitie, Zevran didn’t allow others to take care of it, not without Twadd. Oh, occasionally he let one of the littles play with it when they so desired, but that was rare, usually they wanted to play in Ani’s wild locks. He would say his hair was on par with his daughter and mother’s in terms of body to length ratio, his damned scalp never seemed to stop producing, it had just slowed once it got to a certain point. With a groan, his fingers joined with his husband’s rubbing at his scalp, working air and blood into it as he finished, the concentrated weight finally relieved, covering him and Ferox nearly in a blanket of it.

Rumbling, which had began when the lacings were reached for, filled his mind, _’Maker. You are absolutely beautiful, Love.’_ Kisses were laid everywhere that could be reached - which _was_ everywhere.

Spreading his arms out wide, head tipped back, eyes closed, a teasing smile playing about his lips, embracing the night and its company, _’Oh you have to say that, my gorgeous husband.’_

Ferox was more cautious in his touches, a hand sliding in his hair, the other still exploring scars on his stomach. Unlike Twadd, who would concentrate moving from one thing to another, this one could do two things at once, as if ambidextrous or having taught the body to nearly be so. The first time this skill was purposely shown was the removal of the shards in his hands, but meals had provided indications of some skill. 

Leaning closer, Ferox initiated a kiss, questing for reassurance just as Twadd would when a new situation was presented. Zevran hummed, curling an arm around the broad shoulders, an architectural feature that would not change from Ferox to Ferox apparently - much to his pleasure - sucking the wetness of thick muscle into his mouth. Coupled with Twadd working his way over memorized flesh to the tune of twin rumbles, one sure and silent to the world, the other quiet - it was a fight to keep his hunger in check. Granted he hadn’t been ‘celibate’ - sex had just evolved to suit their needs - since Twadd passed, and they had enjoyed the company of an extra body since then whenever they wished to. But it was different this way, much different. Zevran had avoided Wardens, knowing they would be able to sense the ‘strangeness’ in his mind if any contact with an amulet happened. He had waited to put on their old amulets until they were within several days of Kirkwall, but that didn’t change the fact that sex would likely bring them into contact with an amulet if enjoying a Warden’s company. Just because most Wardens thought he was one and the help of the masterwork collars didn’t mean he was willing to divulge the secrets of how his own ‘ability’ worked. With Ferox though, it was everything the way it had been before - expanded upon. 

Chuckling when a ticklish spot was skirted by two sets of hands, _’Know what might be interesting? All five of us! Now that is what I call an orgy, **amora**. Those parties have nothing on that concept.’_

_’Are you trying to rush me? Here I was going to let you enjoy your boy...Maker was I ever that young?’_

Kissing, _’Younger even, oh yes. The fur did mask it though, just slightly, **querido**. I thought you at first to be mid-twenties, rather than barely twenty at all.’_

 _’Was it summer? I suppose it was just after my birthday... He’s still scrawny, better though...’_ Firm hands slipped into the loose silk trousers and Twadd massaged his calves and feet. In the meantime, Ferox had wandered from tasting kisses and was exploring an ear that couldn’t help curling at the attention. Fingers skating over his ribs stopped for an instant as if even they were startled by the movement.

 _’Wicked man,’_ a laughing groan directed at both of them, lightly, while doing something to retaliate, pads of fingers massaging nipples while he ground down on them, his own toes scrunching. The exhale near his ear held a short note of surprise interrupting the newly found rumbling. Knowing Twadd had said it was always interesting, Zevran wiggled the ear in question so it stroked the moist tongue and lips, even grazing the teeth slightly, “Mmn, I take this to mean you were not made aware of elven physiology?” 

If he were younger he _probably_ would have giggled at the expression on Ferox’s face as he let go, leaning back, the wet ‘pop’ of his ear being released. “What...?”

Twadd was snickering and took Ferox’s place, causing Zevran to suck in a sharp breath, “An excess of nerves gives elves good hearing. Some, it would hurt to do that. Me?” Laughing, “Get my ears and you have me eating out of your hand, _amante_.”

Rumbling, _’I thought that was most of you?’_

_’Shh! Do not give away all my secrets - let him have some mystery about me!’_

_’He can’t hear me, which is best for right now. And anyway, if I gave away all of your secrets, there wouldn’t be any left for just me. He’ll catch up soon enough.’_

A light stroke followed the swoop of his ear as a curious study was made, watching the movements in response to touch. In the meantime, piercings were being examined on his chest, another memorization, an inquisitive exploration of touch rather than sight. When the questions that could be answered satisfactorily by that method, Ferox then stated the conclusion that had been reached, “They move to catch sound better, like cupping a hand.”

“Yes,” tilting his head into Ferox’s hand. “Or like an animal’s.” Brushing his nose over the nearby wrist, “We are more animal than _shemlen_ are. Fertility, senses, movement - built to work with our surroundings and adapt. Humans make the world around them adapt to their needs, while we adapted to our world. Or so says the oldest lore the Arlathanlen have.”

He didn’t want to get into the history discussion, as interesting as it was, he saved it for some other time. However Nune and Ani were the ones most suited to imparting such knowledge. Miolanai had thrown herself into the old descriptions of technological items, while Zevran paid some attention to warfare, mostly he just scribed whatever was put in front of him, collecting the knowledge to be pulled out whenever it was needed.

“Sight, smell, taste if smell, hearing...touch too?”

Taking Ferox’s hand he slid it over his chest, “All of it - at least for those of my father’s line. Most Arlathanlen have greater senses than other elves, yes. But like any inborn talents, some people have more than others. Arlathanlen are descended from when every elf had some ‘magic’. Most is regenerative, sensory, strength, resistance to toxins. Myself, my father, Helion - we have no magic but our senses, which are abnormally strong compared to the muddied bloodlines of those who have mixed with humans through the eons.” Licking his lips, “I can out jump, run, and bend any elf I know other than Nune - but his hearing has...been altered violently as half his ears were cut off.” Adding, “Such a thing could kill an elf, particularly one like we are. But one of the hunters from his old clan, a cousin, is comparable, and far stronger than I am. I am smarter, so it makes up for it, hmn?”

“It can. Quickness is also important.” Distracted by his tongue, Ferox had leaned closer, lips brushing his own before ducking his head to taste a pierced nipple, tongue playing with the ring. His ear was released and instead fingers rubbed his scalp as had been observed earlier.

Twadd gave another kiss to his back and with a squeeze released the foot he had been working, _’You wandered for a moment, but he found something useful in it. All will be well, Love. You cannot feed him the knowledge of the entire world tonight.’_

Arching into Ferox’s mouth, _’You are right, **querido**. It is habit, a bad one...’_

 _’He does not complain like others and does not mind. Not stupid, I would guess not as educated, studying with that cracked head was probably very difficult.‘_ The ruminating continued in the background as to what skills this one possibly had. _’Rote memory or recitations would also be bad. They would’ve stuck him in the fields or up with the sheep except for the light..._

But Zevran was only half paying attention, basking and lolling in the sensation of two who were important, handing himself over to their mutual care. Another time he would be more proactive rather than just encouraging, yet he knew the importance of giving himself to a loved one’s care. As good as it felt for him, there were so many other nuances attached. When his hair tangled around a corded wrist, Zevran loosened the loop quickly, gathering the mass, almost sheepishly as Ferox looked up at him. Getting wrapped up in it was annoying, but the worst if he slept with it completely unbound was the fact that the strands seemed intent on strangling his manhood or wedging in places it didn’t belong. How Zamitie and Ani did not suffer for their locks, he wasn’t entirely sure, as he was the only one who kept it bound up for the most part.

Leaning back, “I don’t mind, but do you need help?”

Zevran rubbed the side of his head grinning, “It has been awhile since I let it down outside of a bath to wash it... Forgot how much it gets in the way.” Snickering with a hefty dose of self-deprecation, “Perhaps I should have gone the route I first thought of - waking you with a kiss, but one elsewhere. I am constantly diverting your attention here and there.”

A hint of colour bloomed on the tanned cheeks, no doubt forgetting perceptive elven eyes, and did not move to hide it, probably thinking the limited light not enough. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

Rather than bring attention to seeing the very surprising blush, Zevran gave an open-mouthed kiss over Ferox’s chest, sliding from the folded legs so he could reach. Running his tongue along draconian teeth marks before kissing each rib, the knots of old breaks dotted here and there, before he was back to a collarbone, where he released a contented purr as he rubbed his face against it. Taming his hair with one hand, just enough to keep it from being yanked as he lay back, Zevran pulled Ferox after him, falling into Twadd’s arms at the same time. Ferox caught himself on an elbow, hovering but so close that Zevran could feel the buffer of shed body heat against his own skin. Sandwiched between warmth, flesh tingling, he sank a hand into Ferox’s loose pants, pushing them down far enough so that he could grasp the hardness and heat tightly after he let his fingers enjoy the texture that was finer and more perfect than any silk. The other hand flowed over a broad shoulder down the taut stomach before pressing his own pants down, their cocks lightly pinned and held tight in his grasp against each other. 

Zevran’s voice was husky, rough, “As I have said...and will say it again and again - you are desired, _querido._ ”

A growled, “Why,” but Ferox did not wait for his answer as Zevran was kissed and a hand joined his own, grasping the heavy weight, sliding. A trembling similar to the day they met, traveled through the form, nothing like today’s terror, rather it was the need to believe tempered with fear and an urge for a breath of air. 

Selecting his want that was not purely lust by any means, but it did have a goodly dose of it, Zevran showed it without overwhelming. The way the scent and sensation of Ferox so close had tested his resolve, the way half the time all he could think about was discovering and sharing what made them both feel good. He left out the other half of his thoughts, the worry over Ferox, the terror of him managing to succeed, or the guilt for invading and putting necessary limits upon Ferox. Those things could wait, they were useless in the moment. 

Growls and rumbles filled his head and ears, Twadd and Ferox both moving against and within with purpose as he sought to give the same. It was difficult, this was not the same sharing of body or thought, it felt too good, and he groaned at the squeeze of long fingers, as phantom ones slid in, readying his body. Jerking with a harsh groan, urgency crescendoed rapidly, the rush coming up fast and spreading from where Twadd was rocking his mind against him, amplified by Ferox’s strong hand, that squeezed and stroked, milking the release from his member. The surprised grunt against his mouth would not be unexpected, yet Zevran couldn’t think particularly clearly, Twadd was still moving, and he desperately wrapped an arm around Ferox’s shoulders, hand cupping the back of his head, begging for more.

Ducking under the grasping limbs, Ferox slid lower, pulling himself free to see this new surprising thing and, given the next touch, to taste as well. Twadd rumbled a laugh in his ear. Definitely matching daggers made of the same metal by the same master smith, the similarities sometimes outweighing the differences. Fingers still sliding and grasping, Ferox’s tongue rolled and curled over and around his thickness, the soft rumbling continuing. A thumb kept returning to the embedded rods and spheres there as teeth pulled against the golden ring before slathering him again with the slick tongue, leaving cooling trails in its wake. 

Struggling to push the shorts down, Zevran growled, not wanting to dislodge Ferox and the pleasure he was giving, but if he couldn’t wrap a leg around that back soon, he might go mad. The movement was enough to change the focus of attention and he was assisted. But that led to another issue that Feroxes had - folding. Whimpering as Twadd laughed at his plight with good humour, well entertained by what he was already doing to their body, Zevran grabbed the jar of unguent, refusing to be idle, _certain_ that Ferox would take forever to grant relief. But as soon as their lower garments were removed, folded, and set aside, surprisingly he was being kissed again, a hand joined his in aiding the relaxing of muscles. 

Mumbling, “Now, now, now, _querido, please_ ,” against Ferox’s mouth, his hand curled around the back of his lover’s neck the other reaching for the length that was straining for him, working the salve into it. 

There was a growl, nearly a snarl, guttural, “I want - I want you.” 

Whether it was a request for permission or confirmation, he didn’t care as the response was the same, “I am yours.” Shuddering, he pulled Ferox closer, tighter, guiding him to the entrance that would give them both pleasure that was wanted and craved. 

The need he felt from Ferox was hot and almost painful - everyone and every touch, even his own, having been denied after the duty of getting Anora pregnant had been completed, Zevran felt the knowledge. Arching to pull him in deeper, he felt himself pulled deeper into Ferox’s want in turn. Intensity of action and sensation was mind-numbing, or almost so. Meeting each thrust with one of his own, Zevran dragged his mouth away as his body went tight, spasming, calling out as reality dipped with his twin lovers’ name on his lips. There eventually came a whine beside his ear, needy and desperate, struggling to find release, which Ferox had deprived himself of for nearly three years. With a shared breath, Zevran dulled the sensory overload enough for Ferox to finally moan pathetically as his body curled, locking around him. He could feel how it had been too much for his wounded lover and he was glad he hadn’t handed over more of his senses, else risk doing damage. 

Holding him tight, a hand searching the skull to find a different set of seams and dents as well as the one they all shared, Zevran refused to let him go, helping him weather the storm. “It is alright, _querido_ , I am yours, you are mine. You are wanted. You are loved. You are needed.”

At last, it was whispered, the voice rough, every broken edge sharp, “I will not leave. There’s no need for demon horses, or Wrath, or searching, or hunting. I will not leave.”

Plucking the blankets with his toes, maneuvering to reach them while not relinquishing his hold on Ferox - who didn’t seem like he was going to let go any time soon either - Zevran pulled the soft material over them. Giving him a squeeze and another kiss, “Thank you, _querido._ Thank you for being here with me. _Tu’enansal ma’nehn._ You give me joy. _Tu dareth_ \- your spirit is safe with me, _querido_ , this I swear.”


End file.
